By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept
by PoeticThighs
Summary: An unfolding relationship in the time of twilight. Hermione persuades Draco in to aiding the Order after finding him in the woods, however their 'professional' friendship develops into a deep, strange and turbulent affair. FINISHED! Sequel HERE!
1. Genesis

**EDIT 2: Changed the title (however not any aspect of the story) as the story no longer fit the "Brand New Colony" glove I first made for it, so here's a more accurate depiction.** Hope i havent pissed too many people off by doing that, but when all else doesn't fit, Morrissey and Marr (well, Elizabeth Smart technically) is always there as a back up. never fails. DO BOOKS CHILDREN, DO BOOKS!

Summary: An unfolding relationship in the time of twilight. Hermione persuades Draco in to aiding the Order after finding him in the woods, however their 'professional' friendship develops into a deep, strange and turbulent affair which neither can initially understand or trust.

Disclaimer: I'm paying homage, not stealing. The lines I've borrowed belong to the respective owners.

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**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Prologue: Genesis 4: 1-17**

_The sun melts across the sky and as it does, it tones the clouds with mauve and pink summer wine. It always starts off with the sky before making its way down to the ground. Spoilt soil, with sandals and sweat, soaking up bad tracks._

_Her eyes cast down from the wonderful sunset and slowly levels back to a house. The house looks good; safe, clean and pretty. Red bricks, brown door. He knows this. He knows the way she looks at that house as he's behind one of the windows in this house; and he observes – mimicking her observe. _

_He recalls the pictures he made back when he was six. Crayola skies and a house in the middle of green grass with a yellow pathway leading to the door. And a person at the doorway; waving with a pencil curve for a smile. Greeting the viewer, a playmate; waiting for a conversation. _

_  
"I'm lost." He says, his hand pressed against the window. _

_It doesn't work so easy like this. Putting theory into practise provides him with all the differences, all the flaws. He's so close to reaching her from out of the window; he holds out his hand and it stretches over metres like an umbilical cord of some giant mother. His fingers stretch, and they can feel the warmth from her face. She is trying to tell him something. He can't quite make it out. What she says does not translate to words that float above her he can read. This all is unreadable._

_Suddenly the earth cracks and breaks, the pathway broken, and the girl drifts away into a river which burns everything around it. The yellow pathway is now a windy fuse which has caught fire and is now blazing in a fury of orange, creeping onto the house, reforming into a lion. _

"_Little wanderer hie thee home." It says in her voice as it surrounds him._

She remembers the first time she saw him that summer. She was surprised at first when she found him sitting on the rocks. This was not at all his territory. They argued over this when she voiced her thoughts and he ended the argument by saying no land was territory. After they all die, what would live on? "The earth, the earth, the earth."

Hermione's first response to this answer was confusion. Since when was Draco so abstract about divide and conquer... He was a man after all and one being of darkness. Power was all they wanted. She edged closer to him and sat opposite him amongst the long grass and rocks. Hermione realised she was in a very vulnerable position; she had no means of protecting herself other than the means to run from him. She reasoned with herself finding him in the same predicament. There was no wand she could see.

"You're right, Granger. I've no wand." He said, his gaze not shifting from the floor.

"Why?" She found herself asking, unfazed by the sudden invasion of her thoughts. Or maybe she was just predictable.

"Because I've no need for it." He said honestly, looking up at her. "You're not a threat to me at the moment. We're not at school."

"Why should that change anything?"

"Look around you, Granger."

She followed his instructions and looked around, confused again. Where did he think he was? Wherever he thought he was, Malfoy was obviously six feet in front of her outside the fog. All she saw was wilderness, a place to take a stroll through, but as there was no real route marked, she was unsure where each direction would lead her. Hermione had only ever walked in one direction when passing through this place. The scenery was nice. But she could see nothing more. She looked back to Draco and shrugged.

"This is not school." He answered.

"I gathered that much."

"This is sanctuary." He finished.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. This was not a bully talking to her. This was not the product of a Nazi-esque mindset looking at her. He was almost human. She looked at him, trying to analyse a potential trap for her, she did no want to fail. She did not want to fall. He read all this on her face and sighed.

"I'm trying to show you. I'm not going to put you in any danger."

"This isn't you, Malfoy!" She shouted as she got up.

"How do you know?" Draco said and mentally slapped himself as soon as he realised what he said. He had asked a question. Weakness. He was providing her with means to destroy him. He shook his head and stood up to walk away. He was just tired of having no one on his side, and in that split second she accused him, he wanted to prove her wrong. And he probably did. She now knew she was no longer the vulnerable one but he was.

"Wait."

He didn't. So she followed him, trying to catch up six feet in six seconds of running. Hermione grabbed his arm and stopped him. He turned to look at her, his grey eyes catching the light emitted by the darkening sun. _This is a bad idea_. _I have a bad feeling about this._ Bad. He never really was bought into the whole purity control frenzy his family and friends were sold to. What other choice did it leave him though? No one could provide him protection if he overtly expressed his objection to the whole terrorist organisation. It was suicide. He did not want to die. He wanted to live.

To be free comes at a huge price. Everything comes at a price. Nothing ever comes for free. Not even freedom. To stay under such tyranny would mean a life for him, but no freedom. He could see no way out. Not yet. He still searched anyway. Bad. It did not matter about the blood to him, but he was Bad blood. He could never fit into Granger's life because of his reputation and past, nor could he ever fit into the world he was born into because he didn't agree with it.

"Sometimes I feel like Cain." He said to Hermione. What would it matter if she said anything? He was at a point where he didn't care anymore. He just needed to talk to someone otherwise risk insanity. She looked at him waiting for some elaboration on the statement he had just made.

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head low. Could she see why he felt that way? Hermione could see it in his posture and voice and knew deep down he did feel that way. She nodded to herself softly as she realised what he said was truth to him, though she was unable to identify with him or even trust him. She looked at him intently.

"Actually I feel like him a lot. It's nice, y'know. Imagining yourself as this lone figure pushed out in the wilderness, with this mark on you. This mark which says you can't touch me but at the same time provokes such hatred. And I couldn't find a way out of getting this mark, it was pre-destined. I didn't choose it. I had no choice." Draco spat out the last statement with such contempt and frustration, Hermione was sure he was close to tears.

Her hand was no longer on his arm, but she wanted it there. She wanted to comfort him but didn't know how. This wasn't anything she had prepared for. It was easy to mask people under assumed labels without looking further, but Draco didn't make it any easier by acting upto this assumed role at school. What choice did he have though? Surrounded by offspring of the same cult, anything said out of line to show disloyalty would mean severe punishment. Slowly; piece by piece she understood.

"It's only here where I feel some sort of solace. This is untouched. This is not territory, Granger." He said, looking at her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Here I feel holy. It doesn't matter what I've been born to do, what I have to do by precedence. Here, I just am. That's all. Do you understand?"

Hermione was beginning to, but what could you say in response? 'It must be hard for you' is empty; it doesn't mean anything to say. It's a form of social courtesy to remove oneself from any emotion by using used lines like that.

"When I'm at Hogwarts, I have a role to live up to. I remove me from myself when I do it. It was fun at first, playing a spoilt brat, but you get bored of it. And now things are getting so serious, it's disturbing to play this role. But you have to. Otherwise everyone'll know your secret. That's worse." He went on to say.

"I'm not honourable. I've never helped a soul in my life. I'm not brave, because if I was, I'd speak out. I'm a thief; I break people when I feel like I'm breaking. I've… done things… and some of them… I enjoyed doing…" Draco continued. His hand was now clasping Hermione's neck gently, his thumb on her larynx, stroking it. It was discomforting but Hermione was hypnotised by his words, waiting for more. She was petrified, not knowing what he would do next.

He gathered himself closer to her and rested his head on hers. It was tiring reaching the tip of the iceberg and showing her this. This was futile, she would spill to someone and he would have to pay for it. He looked at her again.

"But I'm trying. I'm trying real hard to keep true to myself under all this shit." Draco said, "I'm trying to be good." He said, the intimacy and now certain likelihood of his secret being told bothering him. He walked a few steps away from her, not meeting her eyes and apparated away.

Hermione stood there; eyes wide but mouth closed tight.

**  
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**

Draco had avoided the place for a couple of days, afraid she would be waiting there with a knife to strike him in the back. He knew he deserved it anyway, but wasn't brave enough to receive such moral punishment yet. It wasn't until four days after he had the urge to return. He no longer cared if Granger was there or not, he needed his land of nod. At first he walked around the rocks with caution, looking over his back several times before settling down.

Then he noticed something.

There was something there that wasn't the last time he came here. An abandoned book. Draco hesitated before picking it up, sifting the dirt from the pages as he held it in his hands. A muggle book. He laughed a little when he saw the title.

_East of Eden_

She was mocking him! Did he amuse her? He flicked through the pages and found a section marked by her. "READ ME!" it commanded within the margins. The passage of text highlighted. And so he did. He had no idea what had been going on before this passage but he read dutifully, confused at first.

'_But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—'Thou mayest'— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if 'Thou mayest'—it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.' Don't you see?"' _

Something in Draco flowered violently open when reading this. _Yes, I do. Yes, I do. _He did see. His eyes scrambled over the next page, taking in more.

'_It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, 'I couldn't help it; the way was set.' But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make hone… And I feel that I am a man. And I feel that a man is a very important thing—maybe more important than a star. This is not theology. I have no bent toward gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed— because 'Thou mayest.'_

Draco really was close to tears now. He did not want to seem a fool if she was close by, analysing his reactions. He held the book close to his chest, something welling inside him as he reread the words inside his head. It had released something inside of him and he wasn't sure what it was.

But it changed everything.


	2. Directions

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**One: Directions**

It had come no surprise Hermione had been made Head Girl for her last year at Hogwarts. She fingered the letter with pride as she held the badge in her other hand. She felt accomplished somewhat. Her general aims were trivial for this year – to first pass her N.E.W.T.s. and gain O's for each subject. Hermione's specific aims were ones she had not quite figured out yet… she mulled over this slightly and rested on the knowledge these aims would be dependent on what agenda The Dark Lord had.

Hermione wondered what she was actually doing back here again. She knew he had taken the book but he was nowhere to be found. She had come back to this spot several times before in the last couple of days, and still there was nothing to reassure her he'd come back himself.

A crow suddenly screeching frightened Hermione and made her jump where she sat, causing the badge to drop from her fingers. She sighed as she knelt down to pick it up, however a clean boot obstructed her way, threatening to smash the badge into pieces. She looked up.

"Granger, you seem made for this badge, don't you? It seems all you're worth is two letters; H G." Draco smirked tapping his foot on the badge. The regular clink of the pin under the pressure made Hermione wince slightly. Nonetheless she stood up to face him.

"It's a hell of a lot more than the two words you're worth, Malfoy." She said, illustrating her point with two fingers. He could not help himself but smile at her response, and she smiled with him. He pulled out a book from his jacket and held it high in front of her.

"I got your book." He said, and hesitantly followed it up, "… Thanks, Granger."

"No problem. Now get your foot off of my badge."

He nodded and knelt down to retrieve her badge from the ground. There was some dirt caught in the pin and on the back of the badge, and he rubbed the underside against his jeans before handing it back to her. Hermione delicately took the badge from his palm, enfolded it carefully within the letter and secured it in her jeans pocket. She could not allow such an important reminder of six years worth of hard work be lost. No matter how trivial it was when compared with other events taking place.

"Who's Head Boy?" He asked as he slumped onto the ground, now using the rock as something to lean on rather than to perch on. He placed the book beside him and looked at Hermione, "Does the letter say?"

"No, it doesn't. It's probably someone from another house though. I don't think they'd pick another Gryffindor unless they wanted more unrest between the students."

There was a pause in which both of them looked around and mulled over the last year. Hermione knew Draco was just a pawn in their game, a product of their bastardised views. He was the victim really, though he'd never admit to it. Earlier on that summer whilst she was at the Burrow; the Order was grieving over Dumbledore's death, and Harry had confided in her. He told her about the time he found Draco sobbing in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione distinctly remembers Harry saying he felt pity for him.

Nonetheless, actions speak louder than thoughts and in a world where the kinetic was valued more than the potential, Hermione also knew there was no hope for anyone else having the same sympathy she felt for Draco. No one would believe him and sometimes she was unsure of his motive in allowing such access to these thoughts of his. It still surprised her how inverted his real character was compared to the role he played at school. It still seemed somewhat unbelievable to her. Did he mean her harm? Was this subtle manipulation? Hermione wasn't sure, but still stayed and kept the secret because she held compassion.

"Are you going back?" She asked him

Draco raised his eyebrow, "Are you crazy? Three quarters of the school wish me dead and the other quarter… well, they're deluded."

"But McGonagall has asked you to come back for your last year?"

"Yes. She said I'd be taking up the Head Boy's position, but it's a joke. She'll put me in a position of power to give me this false sense of security, but I'll be examined at all times. Like a mental patient. I'll be yet another puppet." He demonstrated by lifting his arms as though they were controlled by strings.

"You'll be safe though. Out here, it's easy for them to call for you to do their dirty work. At least in Hogwarts you'll be protected. If McGonagall asked you to return this year, she must also believe that you are not all bad. Especially giving you the title of Head Boy! She must have enough faith in you to believe you can make it." Hermione argued.

"And what if I'm expected to pull a stunt like I did last year, Granger? What do I do then?"

"There are other Slytherins to call upon. You're just a tool. They'll find another. You're nothing but a means to an end to them."

"And these other Slytherins… If I refuse, what do you think they'll do to me?" He solemnly said.

She knew it was the truth; there was no mercy or justice from Voldemort or his followers. None she had seen or encountered anyway. Hermione picked at her lip with her nails to try and think of a solution to this predicament. If she left Draco here, he'd be succumbed by the Death Eaters, there'd be no real escape either way, but leaving him here was leaving him to be exposed to their will. If they realised how he really felt, they could easily destroy him or bend his will to obey them fully.

On the other hand, if she persuaded him to come back to Hogwarts, he was subject to intense hatred from each side of the spectrum depending on what he did. The majority of students would not welcome him and in an ironic twist, he could be subject to mass bullying. Even if he switched sides or at least refused to carry out Voldemort's doings, he would still be hated by everyone who held Dumbledore dear to their hearts. After Snape, no one would be willing to trust Draco.

Hermione was a bright witch but was desolate in trying to find this solution that could give Draco the much desired protection and silence from the Death Eaters that he needed.

"I still think you should stay at Hogwarts. It'll be hard but you'll be safer there than here."

"I'm not safe anywhere. I'm not safe myself, Granger. I've the potential to be very dangerous," Hermione tried to interrupt but he carried on, "Even if I don't wish to mean anyone grievous harm. There's no way out for me. I'm quite stuck."

"They'll find you here." She declared.

"I know, but I haven't run away."

"What's going on now? What have they got planned?"

Draco sat up and looked at her. "I don't know."

"But you're on the inside! You could destroy Voldemort! He trusts you."

"No. Voldemort trusts no one. Like any tyrant wannabe dictator, he's also very paranoid. He's very careful. If information was to leak… he'd find out who. He's got the best people in various areas of magic to assist him."

Hermione stood up in frustration and towered over him, kicking him in the leg, "You're pathetic! You say you don't want to be in the position you're in, but you won't do anything to get yourself out. If you help us, you'll gain freedom. If you don't, you'll be stuck to this dogma forever. You'll end up marrying Parkinson and your babies will be catalogued by Voldemort. You'll end up a fucking piece of poultry, you and everyone dear to you."

"Marry Parkinson?" Draco grinned, rubbing his leg.

"Don't be a wanker! Listen to what I'm saying," Hermione said as she knelt in front of him.

Draco looked at her, finding it hard to believe the person he finally confided in was someone who was the inferior enemy. One he should have killed without a second thought when she first found him in the woods. Strange, he thought, that he didn't. He let her listen to him and give her the opportunity to destroy him. And it was strange that she didn't destroy him… that she held compassion for him, regardless of what he had done. Was this some subtle manipulation on her part?

"Timshel, remember. You're like Cal, you have a choice." She said. Hermione wondered if Draco had ever been shown affection by his friends or family. She knew from light bedtime reading, the primary sociological debate questioned whether it was nature or nurture that led to the outcome of a person and their traits and such like. Draco was unlucky. He had been born into a family that held reputation and bastardised purity control above the individuals of the family. They were all so alike when she thought about it. If she did not know any better, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them.

Draco was also unlucky because as well as his pure blood, he was nurtured in the wrong way. Hermione wondered how far she could stretch her theories to excuse Draco of his behaviour so far, but still, she stretched as far as she could. Inside, he was fighting against their ideals. Inside there was something else to him that did not make him so functional to what everyone wanted. He was not just a villain. _Draco, you're lost. _

This well of frustration and emotion spilled over as she leaned over Draco and gave him a hug. It was primitive and clumsy, but she held him nonetheless. Draco was confused at first, holding his arms to stop her, but after the initial shock, he sat there, unable to move, feeling the warmth from her rush to the side of his head and torso. He could hear her heart beat and it steadied him. He was unaccustomed to such overt affection, and didn't know what to do with his arms or any other part of his body.

She pulled away from him after a few seconds, feeling foolish for holding him when he made no attempt to hold her back. Hermione felt she had overestimated and overstepped the boundaries that they had. She looked away and nodded to herself before getting up.

"Wait, Granger." He said. She looked down on him.

"What is it?"

Draco lifted his arm and grasped her hand within his own.

He lingered for a while, not letting go. "I'll help."


	3. Cling on to Something

P.s. I do not own the song that I have shoplifted a lyric from (great respect to you if you know which band and song I am on about & and if you don't, it's by The Smiths)

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**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Three: Cling on to Something**

Remus turned to her in disbelief. Though she had explained her story in full, he could not help but still ask himself what on earth was she was thinking. Hermione was desperate though; he could see it in her eyes and wondered if the Malfoy boy had twisted her judgment using some more of their petty dark magic.

"Hermione…"  
"Don't you trust me?"  
"Yes, I do… but I don't trust him."

"Well… what if he proves it to you?" She suggested, holding a small bottle of Veritaserum.  
"That is pointless, my dear. He's skilled in Occlumency. It would be a waste of a potion."

Hermione sighed. She knew Lupin was exaggerating. However, there was no definite way of proving Draco was good inside; that the suppression of good wasn't fatal to him, that he still had some humanity left in him and he was willing to help. After all, he promised to. Remus looked at her sympathetically and Hermione was offended by it; just because she was younger did not mean she was more susceptible to the most feared 'dark influence'. She was not a child. She had not broken yet after witnessing the impact of war, whereas others had in some way or another; Ron with his skittish fearful behaviour, Harry and his nightmares and raging anger. Hermione had just gone along, taking the knocks wearing a helmet.

"I suppose you'll inform the other members then." She said slumping back down in a vacant chair.

"Hermione, you must understand I have to. I don't mean to belittle you by doing so, but I fear – "  
"For all this talk of me being the brightest witch of my age… Do you not trust my judgment?"

"Your judgment may be under his charm." Lupin said slowly.

"His charm! That boy has bullied me for six years, Remus! I think any charm he could possess to control me has long been desensitised. I am not some girl prone to being charmed by the notion of love or danger. This is ridiculous!"

"The last spy we had ended up killing Dumbledore, remember?"  
"And remember Draco did not kill him when presented with the opportunity." Hermione rebutted.

If someone was to say she would be here defending Draco to a former professor and fellow Order member some months ago, Hermione would have brought about hell on the person who suggested it. Remus stayed silent as he began to turn away from her. Hermione knew at one point, people were presented with a choice that they could either ignore or take and battle for. So she calmly took out her wand and aimed for Lupin's head. _What you are doing is very Slytherin of you,_ a little voice told her, but Hermione found it hard not to fight for this particular cause, even if she did not have help from any other member of the Order.

"Obliviate," She muttered under her breath. Lupin stopped in his tracks and Hermione walked over to face him. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow before we set off for King's Cross?"

Lupin looked at her confused, "I'm sorry Hermione, were we even talking?"

"Remus, you have to sleep some more; this isn't healthy." She said pointing to the dark circles under his eyes. "Be glad you were a little forgetful of my ranting over how 12 Grimmauld's library doesn't contain the unbiased edition of _Elvish History_. Just imagine the excruciating pain you would feel just about now if you weren't paying attention to what I was saying and I was Tonks."

Remus, obviously caught off guard, blushed at this and apologised for his behaviour.

"No matter. Do you mind if I just go for a walk? It still hasn't settled in that I'll be Head Girl this year." She said with a smile.

"No, of course not, dear. However you have to be back before the evening sets in. Molly's planning a celebration dinner for you… but you didn't hear it from me."

"I'll make like Remus Lupin and forget I heard you said that." Hermione laughed as she set off outside the Weasley home.

**000000000000**

"I told you they wouldn't believe you." Draco said matter-of-factly. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Still very Slytherin of you to obliviate him for me, I wouldn't have expected it of you" he continued, mirroring her own thoughts from earlier on. "Where does this leave us now?"

"I don't know, Malfoy. I suppose I could always pretend to spy on you when it's revealed you're Head Boy and feed them information you tell me." Hermione suggested, collecting some lake water in a bottle.

"With no real protection for me, though. You do recall the Dark Lord does not take to mistakes with the greatest of mercy. If there's a weak link, he'll be the first to find and torture it." Draco said as he watched Hermione mutter a spell which purified the water in the bottle.

"I'll protect you then, I'm sure I could read up on enough spells and theory to be able to do it. I'm not called the brains of the trio just to be bullied." Hermione concealed the bottle away from Malfoy as she slipped in some Veritaserum in the water, "Here, do you want some?"

"Seen as you've purified it." Malfoy said as he took the bottle from Hermione, drinking nearly half of it. They sat there in silence for a few moments, taking in the whole purified nature of the surroundings. Malfoy was right, she found herself thinking again, this was a complete sanctuary from everything. The only war polluting it was both their thoughts. And the cigarette Malfoy had just lit up.

"Christ, all this talk of this place being your little Eden and you're ruining the complete environment by smoking that filthy thing."

"Shut up, Granger. I'll smoke if I want to."  
"And why do you want to smoke, Malfoy?"

"I smoke to have an early death," he dryly began, "and I need to cling onto something." His eyes were wide open after he finished his second reasoning. He looked over to Hermione who was smirking a little to herself. "You utter sly bitch, you've put Veritaserum in this!"

"I need some proof, that's all, Malfoy. I could be under your spell of dripping charm, like Lupin says. I'm doing this for my protection. If you wish, ill drink the rest of that bottle so you know my intentions are not to trap and betray you too. However, I have to ask the date killer question: is it your intention to destroy the Order through me? Are you just using me for some sick Deatheater purpose? Is every word you've told me prior to this honest and true?"

"Firstly, Granger, that's more than one date killer question. Secondly, in order, no, it's not my intention to destroy the Order through you. I bloody wish the Order win this godforsaken war and I be let off without going to Azkaban. I'm not using you for any sick Deatheater purpose, although they've already got a few ideas of what to do with you once they get you imprisoned, and yes, Granger. Every word I've told you prior to this has been honest and true, otherwise I would have been a very silent Draco Malfoy just about now."

Hermione nodded; silence was the best sign of defeat and guilt. He handed the bottle of water to her. If anything, this was yet another exercise in trust. She wondered what the next exercise would entail, but the image of Draco Malfoy catching her whilst she fell backwards was ludicrous. Hermione took the bottle of water and drank an equal amount to what Draco had, setting the bottle by her side after she had finished.

"Have you smoked before?" He asked her.  
"Yeah, of course I have. I know many muggle friends who do, so it's obvious I've tried it. And smoked a fair few at that."  
"Do you want one now?"

"…Go on, then."

Draco smiled, pulling out a cigarette and handing it to her with his lighter. He watched as she tried to light the cigarette, failing miserably as she was unable to light it fast enough without the wind catching away the flame. He laughed and edged nearer to her, pulling the lighter out of her hand.

"Here, this is how you do it, when I click the lighter, you breathe and suck in. Don't wait for the flame to reach the cigarette. You look like an idiot doing that."

She glared at him, but sucked in her breath as he clicked the lighter. Her cigarette was successfully lit and she took a drag of it, finding it unnerving for him to observe as closely as he did. Hermione didn't need extra patronising; she knew she was a novice at this for all her intellect.

"Why are you not smoking it properly?"  
"What are you on about?"

"You're not smoking it properly. You're just holding it all in your mouth and then blowing it out. It kind of defeats the whole notion of smoking."

"Looks like I can't smoke properly then. I was going to tell you I'm trying to blow smoke rings, but I can't lie, can I?" She petulantly remarked.

"Here, let me teach you how to inhale properly then."  
"Maybe after a few drinks."

"Granger, these things are best learnt sober. Here, watch me. You take a small drag first, and then just take a deep breath." He then demonstrated. Now it was her turn. She tried to do the same, but could not breathe in, just blowing it all out again. Draco laughed at her, "You're going to get mouth cancer like that, or even worse, tongue cancer."

Hermione's eyes held panic at that last remark, but she tried again. This time she managed to breathe it all in, whilst making a sucking noise, trying to fight the sensation of a tickly throat. She didn't want to look like a fool and cough in front of Malfoy.

"There you see, I managed it!"  
"Granger, you remind me of when I was thirteen and trying to smoke weed."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"You'll go back and practise that until you feel at least somewhat comfortable with it, won't you? Just to prove to me you can do it."

"Ugh. You're such a pig sometimes. So what if it took me four hundred cigarettes to finally be taught by the great Malfoy how to inhale smoke properly?"

"I feel honoured I was able to teach the prestigious bossy Hermione Granger one skill she did not possess before the school year. It's going to be fun living with you, now you can smoke."

"I won't be addicted to it."  
"You say that now, but watch."

"Absolutely insufferable." She said, turning her nose away from him. Draco laughed, pulling her hand to him, encouraging her to face him again. Hermione could not help but comply. It was strange that she looked forward to these covert meetings with Malfoy in these woods, even more so than seeing Ron and Harry. For all their years of friendship and possible romantic adventures (as in the case of Ron), she did not feel they took her seriously, and aside from the war, there was no depth to it. Hermione never felt able to talk to them about the big things, the little things and all the things inbetween that mattered. With Malfoy there was a strange connection. Maybe Lupin was right, and she reminded herself to be careful of his charm.

**000000000000**

It was six-o-clock by the time she returned. The veritaserum had worn off in time, thankfully. She knew the Weasleys were full of intruding questions like any normal family and could not risk her secret being exposed. Later on she found herself surrounded by the Weasleys and various members of the Order stood around her, congratulating her. Though they were supporting her, she felt alone amidst them and for some strange comforting reason, Draco's words were still in her head.

"We are two against the world, Granger."

_Indeed_, she thought as she swatted George's hand away from her piece of cake.


	4. Presence

shoplifted a song lyric again, by the same band. Sorry for any mistakes, continuous essaying & chain smoking make me unnaturally delirious and lazy.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Four: Presence**

"What the hell is he doing here?" Ron shouted as he entered the compartment. It didn't matter Crabbe and Goyle were there, he wanted some form of justice. Draco had assisted in Dumbledore's death, was proven to be with the Death Eaters and had fled the building with Dumbledore's murderer. If that in itself was not incriminating, Ron had no idea what else could be. If it didn't anger him so much, it would make him laugh at the absurdity of letting in such a malicious student back into Hogwarts.

Ron turned to Harry who was now beside him and motioned to Draco. Harry would understand, as no one really cared for Dumbledore as much as he did. _Harry will do something_. Harry did nothing but stare at Draco. He felt the same distaste, but not as violently as Ron, which was a change eve he was surprised by. Harry was well aware of his flying temper, but as he had confided in Hermione, he now just pitied Draco. Whether it was a better reaction or not, he could not say if he cared all that much. Harry just put a hand on Ron's chest to restrain him, helping him walk away from Draco and into another compartment.

When Harry was sure, he turned to Draco; "I am making it my business to watch you like a hawk. You will not get away with anything, and I swear to God, if you do, I will make dying a true art." Before Draco could snipe back, Harry had also left the compartment.

Because Goyle laughed, so did Crabbe, but Draco pay no attention to them, pinning his Head Boy badge on his robes, silently mulling over Harry's threat. It had almost sounded like the threats he would receive from his father, blunt and smouldering. Something Draco would simmer over for days when a child, sullenly scowling at his father when his back was turned. His mother would rarely intervene, but it was half justified; his father's word was law even she could not escape.

Suddenly Draco wished he was alone and with Hermione, because he felt he was able to talk of these things with her, to be able to tell her some truth of it all.

* * *

"I can't believe it! I can't believe _they_ allowed it! Let alone McGonagall think it a good idea!" Her red hair was ablaze, as were her cheeks. Her petite figure was an oxymoron when her angered shouts flooded from her mouth. She practically threw the letter from McGonagall outlining Hermione and Draco's duties into the opposite seat.

"Well, think about it Ginny, it's the only way McGonagall can keep an eye on him. It's a clever ploy." Hermione tried to explain as neutrally as she could whilst picking up the letter from the seat.

Ginny hated it when she was patronised like this. Being the youngest Weasely, there had always been an expectation for Ginny to be incompetent, forever naïve and childlike. This mould set exactly for her was hard to break, despite her achievements which she had gained throughout the years that had passed.

During her first years at Hogwarts, she had never really paid attention to the academic principles; finding more pleasure in the adventure and social realm of Harry, Ron and Hermione. She wanted to be a part of their group, to help with saving the day, rather than being saved like she was in her first year. Her infatuation for Harry was still strong, but now at the start of her sixth year, she found herself naturally maturing, at peace with her crush because it was reciprocated by Harry. Nevertheless, she was still childish, and the world to her was still divided in black and white; the dichotomy of which set out her outlook on everything. This was the same with the rest of her family.

"I just feel bad on you, I guess." Ginny remarked. Hermione looked at her inquiringly. "Living with him in those Head Boy and Girl quarters. I'm sure Hogwarts never employed that before."

"That's true. It's probably to trap him even further. I'm half expecting McGonagall asking me to spy on him." That wasn't quite true as Hermione _knew_ she would be expected to do so. A direct order she would follow. She was quite frightened to do so as she hadn't quite figured out how to keep both her friendship with Draco and her loyalty to the Order without little betrayal to each. Hermione hoped both could forgive her. Her troubled appearance provoked Ginny to cock her head at her.

"Are you okay, Hermione?"

"Just wondering how McGonagall's decision of Head quarters will change the next edition of _Hogwarts; A History_." Hermione lied, smiling.

"Thinking about books, as always." Ginny laughed, her anger forgotten. Hermione wondered if she seemed that straight-laced to everyone. Was her character that shallow? "There's more to life than just books, y'know." Ginny went on.

"But not much more." Hermione absently replied, bored of the lack of challenge her friends brought her in terms of views.

* * *

The Hogwarts Sorting Hat ceremony took place as it always did, even with the absence of their beloved Headmaster. McGonagall could not take his place, but eased the loss by attempting to make jokes and comments Dumbledore may have done. None of this suited her personality, though, which made it amusing for students, as much as it would do if Dumbledore was there. Just in a different way.

Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna and Ginny had persuaded Hermione to stay in the Griffindor common room after, but she would hear none of it. She evenly told them she wanted to get settled in her own room, and what better time to do that, but on the first day of school. Secretly, she wanted to slip away from the party because she missed Draco's company, the arguments they would have over philosophy she was surprised he had even read. It was a breath of fresh air taking the risk, and though she loved her DA friends, she felt suffocated by the mundane day-to-day conversations and caution in their friendship. When they had let her go, she promised to make up for it later on the next day, and remarked how she looked forward to receiving their new timetables.

Having a timetable was reassuring to her; it set everything in stone, from there she could build everything around. She was an architect when she read a timetable, slowly planning activities here and there, and by the end of the first academic day, she knew her whole year for the days that would come like the rooms in a house. It was separated into lessons, studying, time with friends, and she even made room for the yearly adventure which was bound to take place at one point or another.

By the time she reached the Head quarters, Hermione was greeted by the smell of smoke. _So this is how he marks his territory, then_, she remarked to herself. It didn't bother her as much as she let on. Her grandparent's house used to be full of the smell, and it was comforting in a way. It brought back nostalgic memories of playing with her cousins whilst each of their parents set up their career. Her grandfather quit cigarettes just before Hermione left for Hogwarts, though. It marked the end of her childhood in a quaint manner.

Hermione found Draco sitting beside the fire; a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He sensed her presence and looked at her smiling. He didn't think her absence would matter, but it did. He wanted to throw himself in her arms and talk, talk, talk, until he made sense of everything with this overwhelming feeling he had at this point. Draco stopped himself though, remaining his calm posture, allowing her to sit somewhat near him.

"We're safe to talk aren't we?" She enquired before taking a seat.  
"Yeah, I've checked everywhere. Not a trace of interference from McGonagall. Surprising actually."

"I don't think she's that stupid to bug everywhere. Mad Eye might have done if he was given the position, though."

"I'm surprised we're both here, you especially. I would have thought your house celebrates a new Head Girl til at least two am in the morning."  
"I feel the same way about your presence. I would have thought your house celebrates a new Head Boy til at least six am in the morning. How did you pull yourself away?"

"Great inner strength… and curiosity. We've got a good deal here, Granger."  
"I'll have a look later on; right now I'm truly shattered. Could do with a book actually."

"You should read this one, it's interesting."  
"Why, what is it?"

"_An Essay On Human Understanding._ John Locke. What a beast he sounds."

"Oh, that book's revolutionary. The whole idea of the human being born with a clean slate, 'tabula rasa', it's amazing and something we take for granted so much these days. The human soul is amazing."

"If we had a human soul."  
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked.  
"There's no self."  
"Of course there is!"

"There's the mind and the body, but no self. The self is something we think exists but everything we do is a reaction to something that happens in our life."

"Bullshit!"

Draco looked at her, surprised at her outburst. "It's too late for a debate like this anyway, we'll discuss it tomorrow."

"Good, gives me time to evidence my points to show why the self does exist."

Draco suddenly remembered a game him and Zabini used to play when they were younger, one which worked off confessions, creating a bond between them and wondered if it would work on Hermione. He searched his pockets as Hermione took a seat on the floor beside the sofa, resting her head on the cushions. Draco uttered a spell to enclose the room in slight darkness and sat down beside her, remembering the first night he saw her in the woods, smiling a little before he handed her a pack of matches as though he was a prince offering her treasures beyond treasures.

Hermione looks down on it with disdain, "I don't get it."

"It's a game we're going to play," Draco began to explain. "I strike a match; you strike a match – one at a time, taking it in turns. When one of us has a match burning, say you for instance, I have to ask a question which you have to answer before the flame burns out or burns you."

"Mm… no deal."  
"Why not?"

"Because… just." She said. In actual fact she felt inadequate. Compared to Draco, the events in her life were miniscule and irrelevant. There was no real turmoil she had, like he did.

"Granger, come on." He lit a match and put it in her hand, "Tell me why you don't want to play this game. Is it because you don't trust me?"

"No, we've established I trust you somewhat. I just have nothing important to answer your questions with."

Draco sighs, finding it childish of her but compromises; "Every life has a million of stories. These anecdotes, no matter how trivial they seem, they make us for what we are now, and it's good hearing different experiences, no?"

"I guess s- Ouch!"  
"Looks like you've been bitten by the flame."

"I feel more like I'm stepping into a ring of fire, to be fair." Hermione says whilst sucking her finger.

"I know how you feel." And in the darkness she could see his silver eyes reflect light like the moon would, but she could not tell where this light was coming from. Hermione pleaded herself not to be let in with this fire, as did Draco, seeing the same light in her eyes. The smoke from Draco's cigarette lingered on, creating beautiful patterns as it drifted up towards the ceiling.

They still went through all the motions; Hermione pulled out a match and handed it to Draco. He was a little put off as he wanted to question her again, but all the same, he took the match and lit it.

"How many girls have you slept with then?"

Draco laughed, "How nosey are you, eh? And I've slept with eight maybe." He answers and then he blows out the flame.

"Eight already! You're only sixteen! Who were they?"  
"That's one too many questions. Gotta stick to the rules - it's your go."

Draco handed her the matchbox from which she pulled out another match. "You know, this boy used to call me a match. He said he was a flame and I was a match, and he was jealous because a match creates a flame, but the flame needs a match. He thought I was some sort of catalyst that affects and is affected by everything; I just think he wanted to put a metaphor to everything to try put it to a role so he could understand it better."

"It's normal to do that though," He reasons with her.

"He was so _square_." Hermione went on, wafting his reason away with her hand, "even though what I say of him is the same for me- that's what I hate most about it, but I don't know. He never really was engaged with life. He'll make a living by being dead. In a dead end job with a deadwood wife. She'll love all the dead metaphors he makes of her. I bet she'll be some proper middle-class absolutely _lovely_ girl."

"And you're not?"  
"I'm not your typical girl, that's for sure."

"You're not that typical to me." And it was true. She was 'mudblood', she defied what he had learnt completely. She didn't see everything black and white and was willing to see the grey and hear about it.

"Am I that transparent?" She joked.  
"Am I?"

"I wouldn't know. You're too secretive." Hermione reasoned.  
"There's no fun in giving it all away… Especially to strangers."

"Not quite strangers, Draco."

And because she had finally used his first name, there was nothing else he could say in return but her name.

"Hermione."

She smiled.


	5. Lock Out Time

i update as soon as I finish writing the chapter. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts. If you could, just tell me how I'm doing on building character and suchlike. I think character is the most interesting aspect to a story, they make the plot in a sense. The letter at the end of this is a slightly modified unsent letter to my own dad, and if you've ever had this kind of relationship, you know how painful it is.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Five: Lock Out Time**

A week had passed since the Sorting Ceremony and the daily routine of lessons began taking form, each day beginning with breakfast and a flurry of mail. Hermione noticed Draco received and sent numerous letters to his father in the privacy of the Head Girl and Boy common room. There was an incident midweek where his father owled a Howler, but Draco received that in the darkness of his own room. He must have also uttered a silencing charm upon his bedroom as Hermione could not hear the words issued. He forbade her to speak of it, explaining he did not speak of his relationship with his father to anyone at all. It just wasn't a topic he liked discussing as much as the philosophical debates him and Hermione had.

Still, Hermione was curious as ever.

The prying questions from Harry and Ron about Draco's living behaviour did not cease either, which, quite frankly, pissed Hermione off to the extreme. She would battle within herself to defend Draco, but could not without exposing their friendship and her affection for him. Instead she relayed the same old insults of him as she always did, only with a little less heart. Draco said it was the same with his acquaintances, especially Parkinson who begged to be allowed in the Head common room to pry amongst Hermione's belongings, but Draco convinced her it wasn't worth her time.

Both had still not come up with a way to tackle keeping Draco safe whilst feeding information to the Order. It seemed futile and Hermione blamed it for having the mind in a proper frame for it as they were both dealing with the swamp of work given to them by each professor. Hermione thought they would keep procrastinating until the whole year had passed by, because they just enjoyed talking about other topics more than the one they set out to solely concentrate on once coming to Hogwarts.

There were a few times Zabini showed up in the common room, and Hermione did not mind him. When Draco wasn't around, she enjoyed talking to him, or rather slyly slinging insults at each other, but she thought him clever. It wouldn't be long until Zabini figured out the great big secret her and Draco shared. Though she liked him, she feared him a little as she was not sure how far his loyalties to Draco stretched, and Draco was careful to conceal their friendship, but Hermione was scared she would slip up and Zabini would have a hold over them. She hated not being in control of situations.

"Which essay are you doing now?" Enquired Ron, peering over her shoulder as she sat in the library. Hermione hated people peering over her shoulder; the sense of invasion which accompanies peering-over-shoulders was incredibly crude and annoying.

"Probably an essay you should be doing, but you still haven't brought yourself to do." She said, finishing the last words. She hated the fact essays were marked by the length of the scroll, rather than the amount of words in it which she was used to before attending Hogwarts. She found herself continuously whining to herself that it isn't how much you write, it's what you write that should be considered highly. The professors obviously thought differently.

Ron cocked her head at her, knowing she was annoyed. He couldn't help annoy her, though he didn't exactly set out to do that. This is why his infatuation with her ended over summer, he just felt too stupid for her. She was in a realm where he could not follow and it disturbed him. It wouldn't last between them, he thought as he nodded, looking at the title of her essay, she was just too, well, Hermione.

"We haven't spent time together since coming here, you know." Ron said.

Hermione looked guilty, "I know, I'm so sorry, I've just been trying to tackle all this work. I promise you, this weekend I'm all yours and Harry's."

"Good. We miss having someone to boss us about constantly."

"If only you two would do your essays when they needed to be done!" She exclaimed, laughing a little as she had said it so many times before.

**0000000000**

She slipped into Draco's room quietly, as he did not answer when she knocked. They had come to a point now where they would knock on each other's doors when they wanted each other's company. Soon, they would just enter the room, unless it was locked, but not just yet. They weren't that comfortable with each other, but would be in time.

The first thing she noticed was that Draco's eyes were red and so was his nose. He looked like he had a cold and had been left out in the cold for a long time. He looked up at Hermione and shook his head, but with all the crying, his head felt like lead and a powerful headache was coming upon him. Draco hated crying. He massaged his temples; sobbing had also made him tired as well. He made his way to his bed and lay on it, whilst she took his place in his chair.

"What's the matter?" She asked full of concern. Hermione had never expected this of Draco; she thought he was cold as could be; not warming his cheeks through tears.

"I severely dislike my father, that's all." He said, the pounding headache making him close his eyes. He could feel himself drifting to sleep, but he wanted her out before he did. She was a curious creature, she would find out things he had never told another living soul. Maybe he wanted her to know. It was the maybe that led him to troubled sleep straightaway.

Hermione could not help herself but look down upon the desk once she knew he was fast asleep. She found a letter with the recipient's name unmarked but guessed it was from Draco to his father. The handwriting so elegantly his. She recalled him saying him and his father had more of a professional relationship than a father-son one, and they never really talked about anything other than trivial matters or relaying the Dark Lord's orders.

This letter was meant to be unsent, and as Hermione read through, she felt tears prickling her own eyes. She was moved by it all, but she could not completely understand as she had not the experience he did. Draco certainly did have a heavy heart to follow the road he had made for himself. It made her respect him all the more, and once she had finished reading the letter, she tiptoed to the bed and enclosed him in her arm, holding him tight. Like both were drowning, and both needed each other to survive. Draco did not hold her back, but she understood why.

_What's the point of even trying to communicate anymore? The iron bars have been put up for life. This is Lock Out time._

_I don't even know why I'm writing this. What use is there, all I'll get is the shit kicked out of me. I can't about anything to you, I try, Merlin knows I try. Each time I try contact you, there's stuff I want to say, but every time you answer, there's a barricade and I can't shift it because all that means is easier access for you to strike me down._

_I don't even contact you because I'm lonely or bored, I think each time I try contact you, I think something might have changed and we'll be able to talk or you might even say something ridiculous like "I accept you", but nothing ever changes. There are times I feel so lonely and isolated, all I can do is sit myself down and try not give myself the self satisfaction of pity. Most of these times are at home, the Manor. You just don't understand, but you're not willing to even open up and try._

_I think half the things you grind me over dealing with openness is aimed at yourself. But even making such a statement is heresy to you. After all you are God. You have made me and you can kill me all the same. I've heard it many times. It's almost Judaic._

_And I think it's because of that I don't love you. Oh sure, I fear you a whole lot, it's been instilled from childhood after all. There's even times I respect you and will fight for you. But I don't think I love you or trust you. I really do toy with the idea of letting you in and being completely honest and telling you what's happened, but all that'd happen is you'd come into my heart and smash it completely._

_It pains me to write this, you think it doesn't, but really it does. Above everything, this pains me the most. There are bad things I can think about that I wont clench my fist over; if someone rejects me or betrays me, all I do is get mad over it, but it doesn't pain me. I try let no one in. If stuff has happened, which it has, I've kept that pain to myself, I've become self-sufficient and I rely on no one else but me, myself, or what you will._

_I think you're the childish one. You say I'm the child, but you are. Having you shout at me through howlers makes me glad I'm not at home anymore. You mad is like a child having a tantrum wielding a knife. There's no reasoning with it, and because you're in fear of the knife and the sense of invincibility it has at that age, you don't want to risk it._

_You know nothing about me, and when you try to destroy my spirit, making yourself feel better, you use all the same arguments, I know all your arguments off by heart, and half of them aren't even appropriate, let alone applicable. You just reuse them because that's all you can think upon._

_Everything you say is based on your own experience, not mine. I am not you, I might be everything bad of you, but I am not you. There are words I take into consideration and follow because I can relate it and apply it to my life. Everything you say is not right though, you are human like everyone else at the end of the day._

_Any rebellion against you isn't to follow others; I've my own path which is my own. I've started on this road and though it takes a heavy heart to follow it, it's mine. My rebellion isn't even that to consciously make a mockery of you; that would be time wasting and I don't care for it. My rebellion is to outlearn you, outlive you and know more than what you do. _

_My first memory of you is you beating the living shit out of me, you pulled my hair as you dragged me through the kitchen. It's not to say that all the memories I have of you are bad ones, but that's the first. I don't hate you for it, but I really can't forgive you either. Your constant bullying made me strong though, even if I crumble in front of you. If I crumble it's because this is the only thing which reduces me to painful sobs, like now. I know I'm strong because I've risked getting beat up for myself. You say you let me go to Hogwarts. I fought to come here. And if you tried to keep me away like you said you would have, I would have fought harder in return._

_It really does seem since the day I was born I've been fighting to live. And sometimes I do tire of it, you can only take the blows of life being strong for such a period of time. There was even a time you came to me if you remember. That night Mother found out about your infidelity, she apparated straight away to the witch's house. You sat at the edge of my bed and you asked me what to do. I don't think I've ever respected you so much since then. For a brief moment you were Human instead of God and I found you relatable._

_I don't even know why I tell you this, as long as my grades are good, there isn't much else I can say to get you to say "I'm proud". I don't say these negative things to pick a bone or because they're negative things to say. I'm just being honest about how I feel. And I can't help how I feel._

_In the midst of having an argument with someone over the existence of 'self', we talked about parental love. She said it was selfless and I said it was selfish. You only love your own because they are made in the image of you/ Narcissistic really. Do you not love me because I'm not like you in the right way? I guess you want me to have exactly the same outlook on life you do, the same beliefs you do, but none of your traits. You say I've an attitude problem, but the attitude is what I've inherited from you._

_I don't even know where this letter is going now, or why I bother to write it. I wont even send it. I could never really verbally set out an argument or reasoning against you. Writing comes naturally to me. I used to have dreams of being on the local bridge and it crumbling, bringing me to death. Did you know that? I think this attempt to build bridges will end the same. I'll never let you in. Never. I feel safe with these iron bars because whenever I tell you something about me, you just end up using it against me in a fight we have a month later on. It's just not worth it. And I'm not entirely blaming it on you, I guess it's just the way things are._

_I expect if I send this, you will hunt me down and kill me; that's another one of your favourites. I used to really want to kill you too, if I had the opportunity and was able to get away with it, I would have killed you. You want to kill me, Mother wants to kill me, everyone wants to kill me. Even I want to kill me sometimes. But anyway, I expect to be in St Mungos at any rate within twenty four hours of you reading this. No one can escape your wrath can they?_

_You won't kill me. You can only kill my body, but the human soul is a beautiful thing. There are some things like this which breaks a person down and makes a mouse, a slave of them. I'm kind of glad you put enough hate in me to make sure that didn't happen. You might kick me, you might punch me til I'm kneeling on the floor, you think you're beating the fight right out of me, but you're wrong. It makes me strong to take this kind of beating._

_I agree with her, the human soul is a beautiful thing. The choice of what we do makes us godly in that sense. Humans have the choice to do what is expected of them and what is not expected of them. You chose to do what was expected of you. I've a choice of what to do in life, to live and learn, and if I don't take the risks and the choices, I'm merely a slave, more of a slave than I am now._

_Sometimes these choices provoke punishment and suffering, but the human soul is a beautiful thing, from the moment we are born, the soul is 'always attacked, but never destroyed'. But it's hard feeling like Cain all the time, like Milton's Satan, or what you will._

_What's the point of even trying to communicate anymore? Anything I tell you of how all breaks my heart only breaks it further. Nothing will ever change, will it? But in a way I'm happy it wont because I can't let you in. I don't want to be close with anyone. If I cry, I want to do it on my own now. I think I loved you to the moment it hurt and broke my heart that you'd never love me the same unconditional way back. And now I don't want to love anymore. All it does is bring pain._

_What's the use of writing this? I can stand to being beat up, but not from my own father. Why can't you just listen? Why must you always get angry even when I'm just being honest?_


	6. Ships

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Six: Ships**

The room was dark, and if it wasn't for the cimmerian blues which rotated around the room whenever flashes of magic occurred outside in the grounds, the whole place would be lost in oblivion of black colour. Draco sighed and stared at the ceiling, empty in real thought, wondering whether or not he was distinguishable from the hues which cloaked the room. There was no soft music for insomnia, no gentle caresses to help ease solitary thought and smooth the crevasses they built in his mind.

A smile flickered on Draco's lips at the thought of crevasses, remembering the argument he had with Hermione over the existence of self. He had near enough bullied her, telling her the self is just an illusion that the mind makes up, and everything a person does is in reaction to something else. _"It is entirely fictional"_ he remembered saying. However, though she saw the plausibility in the idea, her own beliefs would not be swayed. She was reduced to likening the self to a deep crevasse which is the self, and what is filled with, is a river ever flowing, _"seen as you can't step in the same river twice" she triumphantly finished_.

Draco had first laughed at her attempt to explain her views, which involved many emphatic facial expressions and flaying arms illustrating a valley and river. Hermione took offence to it immediately as usual, _so easy to wind up_; he sometimes did it without meaning to. There had been times within the last month where their fights would escalate to such a level; the common room was left near enough destroyed. Ravaging scorch marks on the walls, the sofa ripped to shreds, and parts of different objects juxtaposed with each other in clumps around the room. Nothing a simple _reparo_ couldn't fix once they had decided to talk again, but sometimes their fights would lead to brooding silences that stood like a grudge between them.

He had been without Hermione's company for the last couple of days, as she had been called away with Potter and the remaining Weasleys left in education. She had not really explained what the situation was whilst she was packing to leave, but he was able to guess something had happened to a member of their family. A tear had escaped her eye whilst she packed her toothbrush, but she caught it and swept it away before Draco could say anything. Granger had not even mentioned how long she was going for, or whether she would be in touch, but he did not want to break the mutual reserved stance they had for each other by showing any enthusiasm for her company.

His mind wandered back to the night Hermione stayed with him after reading the horrible overt emotional garbage he almost seriously thought about sending his father. He did not even realise she had stayed the night with him until daylight bounced off the room and he found his shoulder captured in her arm whilst she hummed sleep into the back of his neck. Draco lifted her up and carried her back to her own room, not wishing to deal with the awkward words that would naturally come in the stead of late morning.

As for his father, well, he hadn't heard from him in a while now. Though the silence was relaxing, it also had the opposite effect on Draco as he could only wonder what his father and the other Death Eaters were scheming. The thought of being caught engaging with Granger and promising to help her brought on some form of panic attacks. There had been times in the morning Draco would think of Granger and Voldemort simultaneously and he would struggle to breathe; trying to control and calm both his lungs and heart. Sometimes he wished a great bolt of magic would just strike him dead as he lay in his bed and he would be rid of the burden, but that thought would soon pass.

As Draco sighed again, resting his arms behind his head, the door quietly swung open to reveal shadows of Hermione. From what shadows he could make out in the darkness, he saw her cheeks were darker than they should've been and her lips were near black. Draco couldn't see much as the room had gone dark again. She stumbled around mislaid objects and slid under the covers by his side. He felt incredibly inadequate to this sort of treatment, his compassion and pity was tested daily by her, and this was too much all at once. He felt Hermione simultaneously pushed and pulled him with this innate magnitude she created. _Because I let her do this to me,_ he deduced.

"No one's perfect." She whispered in answer to his silent question as she curled up beside him. He enfolded her in his arms, not sure what else to do. Her face burrowed into his shirt and he could feel her trying to hold back tears. Draco, in return he pushed her up on top of him, so her legs dangled off the side of the bed, the posture was half decided. He was not used to such girls around him like this unless they were there for sex, so he did not know what to do, but kept playing with her hair. Her hair was loose and looked ablaze, and Draco took strands and measures of the azure looking coils and massaged them in his hand as she leaned over him. Draco doesn't want to be nice, but fights the urge by warning her.

"This is only going to end up in trouble." He tells her and she half-sobs half-laughs in response as she leans against the windowsill directly next to his bed, shifting her weight on him a little. Hermione, for all the distress she was in, did not want him to feel uncomfortable. He sat up though, cradling her in his lap. "What happened?" He noticed a cut just above her eyebrow as well, it was fresh, shining and the wound looking blue-black in the darkness of night. He reached to touch it, and she flinched when he did, resting her arm around his shoulder.

"Your lot happened." She said before she could stop herself. Draco's face first contorted in annoyance, but the frown half lifted, leaving only his eyebrows furrowed. His hand around the back of her neck didn't slacken, but tightened if anything. His other hand reached her side as he soothingly drew circles on it. Hermione, however, pushed his hand away, "you must have known about it. Why didn't you warn me?"

"What the fuck! You're not putting the blame on me for what happened to you over the last couple of days." He said pushing her off him. What he meant to say and what he did say lay in the difference of time and thought. If he cared about it all that much, he would have remained still until some words of condolence hit him, but the response which came was automated.

"You must have known what happened, your father must have at least bragged about it to you. We had to go through a full five minutes of his sneers and smirks before he took his moment to flee."

"You know he hasn't been in touch lately. What did he do?" Draco asked. Five minutes of overt self-love from Lucius's mouth provoked a curiosity from Draco.

"There was an ambush at the Weasley Burrow. They planned it all; they must have poisoned Arthur's tea within the Ministry and waited until we were called from school to visit him on his deathbed. Arthur didn't stand a chance, Percy was untrained." She paused, holding back another tear as it would have been wasted on him, he didn't care for the Weasleys, "The funeral takes place next week."

Another awkward and uneasy silence fell between them. She was right, Draco did not care for the Weasleys at all, but knew this all had a domino effect and would mean hell for him in the weeks that followed. He could deal with Potter and Weasley's annoyance and dislike, but did not know how he would deal with the sorrow that resulted from his father's interference.

"You should have been more prepared. If he had been on his deathbed, there must have been something there to warn you not to fall into the trap that had been laid."

"What? You criticise us for our loss when it was your fucking father and your fucking mad aunt who did this?"

"Hermione… I am really trying." He said, almost pained. He was sincere about it, she could tell, otherwise he wouldn't have referred to her by her first name. Names were important, how could you at least see yourself as an individual without a name of your own, not shared by anyone else. She sighed and sat by him again, biting her lips, the tears spilling now. He took his hand to wipe them away, but she nods.

"I know." She defensibly rebuts. "I just…"

"I understand." He lay back down and waited for her to come back down beside him.

Hermione tapped her fingers across the windowsill; she tapped it musically, and at the same time, she tapped to find an answer _or maybe she tapped to create new codes_, Draco thought, looking at her. _Or maybe this is her code which I have to decipher_. He wanted her to stay, despite what might happen, despite what she may feel and despite what had gone on before. She slid back in on top of him and rested herself between the duvet covers and himself. Draco tilted her over himself and tasted the bitter flavour of Pomfrey's medicine mixed with the sweet saliva on her lips. She opened up her lips for him and he had to grab hold of the edge of the bed to stop himself from drowning.

The bittersweet saliva stayed on his tongue after she had satiated herself, and Draco himself ceased by gently kissing her on the forehead to apologise for the abrupt action, for his intentions. He had just wanted to comfort her, but the proximity of her was too close and he did not know how to react, strangely finding himself wanting more of her than what was given to him. He supposed he would always be a brat.

"What of the Order now?" He asked sleepily.

"They wish for me to obviously gather as much information from you as I can, they think I've the passion for it, that I still hate you," Hermione starts, and his eyes softly closed as do all his senses. He couldn't even feel her body holding his tight, instead he saw ships – he always sees ships on the verge of sleep. Each lingering detail became a ship all floating on heavy water. Even Hermione's voice was a ship just leaving harbour. He found himself wondering what kind of ship Hermione would be, her voice ebbing like a lagoon now, echoing and whispering like ripples, "they don't know I've fallen."

**000000000000**

Hermione sat in the toilet cubicle with her head crashing down on her waiting hands. Her forehead lay cradled and supported by the fleshy strength of her damp palms; her fingers making tracks close to her scalp. Hermione's eyes were wide and risking tears, concentrating on the floor in front of her; if she closed them, flashes of a former Burrow would run through and she would feel all the worse for it. Her eyes had to keep open and her mind to keep away from weeks that had passed before the trouble began.

But she could already feel the heaving and her eyelids gently closing as though to welcome a loving dream. Loving dreams are paper bags flying, but the reality is a memory crashing down as Hermione soon discovered. In a matter of two weeks, the stability she depended on was broken, everything in pieces and she was torn loose into a crazy dimension of unrequited emotion. It wasn't love, though. She just wanted him because she felt unnaturally close to him, with all they had shared and learnt of each other, she wanted a little more. The little more that tips the balance and the little more which would send her over the edge if it went all wrong.

It had only been an hour in his bed, but she had left, needing a clinical environment to gather herself together in. She felt stupid now for letting the tears slide from her eyes, confessing to him her dilemma. In the beginning she wasn't bothered by it, seeing him as someone she could save, but now the deaths of Arthur and Percy Weasley had broken what she thought of as a second home, one which understood the magic of the world and accepted her for her excellent achievements in the realm of it. The damage on the surviving Weasleys was horrific to see, and she felt incredibly guilty for being Draco's confidant without mentioning any information to the Weasleys for his safety, his behalf.

As she clicked the bathroom light off and head back to his room, she wondered why she did so. Comfort, she reasoned to herself. This madness had come from the need for comfort. The recent memory of Draco's kiss was something she also felt guilty about, overstepping boundaries they had subconsciously lay for each other, but it strangely did give her comfort, easing the pain, displacing it in a far off region in the back of her mind she could not reach. As for her confession, she hoped he was unable to make sense of it; afterall, it had come out as a soft whisper, a gasp choked out to release the lead from herself and dispel it into the air.

Hermione crept into the duvet again after removing her jeans, feeling lighter. She lay in bed facing Draco, as he did her, he was still asleep, his eyelashes fluttering softly at times. He looked like a renaissance painting which made Hermione smile. She pushed herself so they remained close, their bodies so close together, Draco interlocked their legs together and she felt like they were a pair of seahorses hooked by the tails in some strange fashion. She kept her eyes open and looked at him until he opened his own and stared back for a moment, then closing them, a slight smile playing upon his lips.

The moment was tender, holy and soft. The world cocooned around them and they were preserved in a single photograph that was never taken. Both their faces were so close together, what Hermione breathed out was what Draco breathed in. Draco inched his face nearer to her as casually as he could, licking his lips and Hermione did the same. It was Draco's lips that touched hers first, slightly dry from the air. She parted her lips a little, but he did not invade her with his tongue as he did before. It was sweet and chaste, something that was so unexpected of him. He enclosed her top lip within his own first, and then the second kiss was reserved for her bottom lips. So gentle, they did feel like morning dew.

By the time sleep settled for her, her own dreams taking her for a voyage, Hermione was sure their lips were still connected, the breath of Draco's dreams pushing her from the harbour he had left her on an hour or so beforehand.


	7. Blank Pages

With thanks to slytherinqueen for constant reviewing the chapters I've submitted & to others who have this on their alerts list.

& apologies for mistakes I've made. Meronymy and hyperonyms revision doesn't mix well with the simultaneous Frankenstein & nationalism essay due in.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Seven: Blank Pages**

This was as far as Hermione went when she made up romantic tales in her head. After page twenty-seven, there were only blank pages left. The plot stopped at the first kiss and was left static when morning came. The characters remained fixed, stationary in positions she wrote them in and neglected, wallowing through fiction purgatory as she could not find any direction to pull them in.

When she awoke to find Draco sleeping form next to her, she suddenly empathised with the characters she had abandoned, realising how vast and empty three hundred and fifty blank pages were after such chapters had been completed. She did not know what to do, as the author had abandoned her in this moment, ironically remembering her argument for free will. Hermione instead wanted to know what to do, she wanted orders, she wanted a script with stage directions she could follow with the precision that had never failed her in academia before.

Most of all, she wanted more.

The kiss burned and etched its way onto her and she wished she had taken advantage of it, as with a kiss, there lay a promise of more. However, promises were made to be broken, and that is why opportunities present themselves. Hermione thought she should have taken the opportunity and fulfilled her desire completely, with absolute perfection that both would remember as sex is always harder to forget than a kiss.

She sighed and faced away from him, unable to pull herself away. Pulling herself away and leaving the matter silent through ignorance would be the sensible thing to do. And Hermione Granger was a sensible girl. Two plus two equals four after all. Nonetheless, she could not do it, all she could do was lay there, lazily spooned by Malfoy in a road she had never found herself before in. No map, no compass. Just a stretch of open road she was lost on.

Draco's physical presence dawned on her suddenly, as she felt his hard on pressed against her thighs. _Men_. His arm around her waist tightened as he pulled her closer to him, trying to settle himself in warmth he craved for. She accommodated him and let him stay there a while, perhaps naughtily shifting against him so he could feel more and give into temptation she was allowing to occur. Hermione did desire him and logically discerned she did this because she was not to desire him. She never really saw herself as a predator though, but the thought of chasing after Malfoy like a wolf took advantage of her basic instincts, allowing them to ebb and take over her reasoning.

She tried to innocently shift and shuffle around some more, but Malfoy's voice made her stop.

"I think you should go." He said, his eyes closed when Hermione turned to face him. His hand was still around her waist and his thumb affectionately rubbed circles on her side as he did before. Malfoy did not want to take advantage of her for the sake of a means to release; he could do that easily enough having a wank. He needed Granger on his side, not to hate him once she realised he was unable to emotionally connect himself to her in such a way. If they had sex, it would mean nothing to him. The friendship did, however, and he was not about to risk it by letting his cock think for him.

Hermione nodded, a little dejected, but she realised the gravity of the situation. The shock of hearing his voice brought back memories of what had gone on in the Burrow a mere day beforehand. She held his hand once she had picked herself up from the warmth of his bed and muttered a quick 'thank you' before walking back to her own room. The autumn cold hit her whilst she picked up her jeans, the skin on her arms raising goose bumps in retaliation to the sudden change of environment.

_Discipline, Hermione_. She scolded herself, ashamed of what she had done.

Malfoy opened his eyes once she was out of the room and let out a heavy ragged sigh. He did not want to be nice. It wasn't part of his plan to be attached and dependent on Granger as he was already. It was only a year ago he found much amusement following the line of her lips form a frown in reaction to his bullying. _This will only end in trouble_. Did he not say that the night before? It would have been better if the Order was at least willing to protect him, but after what his father had done, there was no hope of that now. Granger would also be disowned as Potter and Weasley would never forgive her for fraternising with the enemy in such a way.

The both of them were cut loose in a world they had both given permission to be stranded on. Malfoy accio'd an open box of cigarettes and proceeded to have his early morning smoke. He began making a mental list of what to accomplish that day, and made it a priority to discuss with Granger what exactly they should do, what plan should be made, how they would survive the future laid before them. Both had managed to avoid the topic lately as discussions surrounding it would entail the room being destroyed. _If only she wasn't so stubborn._

He had to swing their whole relationship back to where it was when he first saw her that summer. A professional alliance. Anything more would compromise their set goals and land them claustrophobic in a tin of worms that had the attributes of snakes. As he took another drag of his cigarette, Draco removed the concealment charm on his forearm to reveal the Dark Mark that was scarred on a year or so ago now. He could not forget that either.

**000000000000**

Ron and Ginny were still suffering the first throws of grief left by the death of not one, but two loved family members. Ron could only imagine what his mother was doing back at home, but did not want to think more on the matter as it would just bring on more pain. The two sat on Harry's bed, silent and deep in their own thoughts whilst Harry looked on. He saw the Weasleys as his adopted family, a model of what a family should be like. The death of Arthur Weasley was not as painful as Sirius' though, nevertheless, it still hurt and weighed down his heart heavily. Now he understood how Hermione and Ron felt when Sirius fell behind the veil; a hopeless degree of feeling absolutely useless and helpless. Anything marked with 'less'.

Hermione softly sat on the edge of the bed as well, and it was only then Harry noticed the whole room felt tragic and marked by their sadness. He saw that the cut above her eyebrow was healing nicely, and wondered if it would leave a scar on her also. Ginny snorted in memory of something, and when the others turned to her expectedly looking for an explanation, she just shook her head and left the room.

Harry got up on his feet to follow her; he was sure he would follow her anywhere, but Hermione took a hold of his arm and made him stay. She shook her head knowingly and gave a sad smile as to say _leave her, let her come back to you in her own time_. He complied, knowing she knew more than he did on these matters.

"We have to find and destroy the rest of the horcruxes." Ron suddenly said.

"Not now, Ron." Hermione answered. "Wait until we're in the right mind to do so."

"He's right though." Harry said. "We've been waiting too long and look what's happened."

"Harry!" She knew she was looking for support from the wrong party.

"No. We've allowed too much to happen, how many more of us is he going to kill off, Hermione?" Harry argued.

"Exactly. Harry's lost his family and I've lost my dad to this. I bloody understand Harry now! I understand. It's got personal. Are you going to sit there doing nothing until he finds _your_ parents?" Ron accusingly said.

Hermione was taken aback. She did not know having both parents alive would mean Harry and Ron turning against her in this way. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Ron with hurt in her eyes, when she turned to Harry, she saw he was nodding in agreement, the fire of retribution gleaming in his eye, making his scar darken.

"To find the horcruxes, you must at least be in the right frame of mind. Harry, you're so angry, Voldemort could probably read your mind like a book. You have to learn to close that mind of yours down first before doing anything. Ron, you need to equally prepare yourself because right now you are blindly walking into a battlefield." She delegated, choosing to ignore verbal acknowledgment of his accusation.

"This isn't a test for N.E.W.Ts, Hermione. You were there when it happened, how could you not want to immediately do something? You live with that scum son of his, how could you look at him this morning before you went to your beloved classes?" said Harry, his voice raising.

Hermione sighed, "Believe me, I'm hurting too. I just will not let my heart do the reasoning."

What a lie. Her heart took over the moment she allowed Malfoy to share the free air they breathed, to hold her hand, to pass her cigarettes and converse together without prejudices.

"Then you have no heart." Harry retorted.

In the end, they managed to get what they want. With the both of them against Hermione, she knew defeat was inevitable. She would return to her area of expertise, gaining knowledge from books, whilst Harry and Ron planned to gallivant being the crusaders they desperately wished to be, doing what was conventionally expected of them to do. They had decided Hermione was also to concentrate on the task the Order had given her, and bullied her into letting them sneak around the Heads Room for themselves as well. It was demeaning. There was no poetry to it, just demands. Hermione was pressurised to perform a role in a script she did not particularly agree with.

She had truly fallen. There was no safety net either. She wondered if she would drown like Ophelia for it.

**000000000000**

Draco was more than exhausted by the time he arrived in his common room. The Slytherins were made aware of Lucius' supposed battle win and a celebration ensued by those whose parents were involved with the whole Death Eater scene. On the whole, he enjoyed the senseless company, the bullying insults, the harsh statements and the threat for more violence. He could not help it, he was still carnal. He stood leaning against the fireplace and proceeded to light up a cigarette. For the time being, he really could not care where Granger was or what she was doing, the company had given him back the walls he used to push her with before this September.

A glass smashed into the wall inches away from his face. Draco, mildly surprised as he was, was frozen to the spot. He turned to view his attacker; as such an aim was meant to be a warning shot before getting onto serious business.

His mouth dropped, and so did the cigarette, falling neatly onto the floor. The petite red-haired woman poured herself some firewhiskey in another glass taken from the nearby cabinet. She looked at him and gave him a sarcastic smile before drinking the contents in one.

"Weasley?! What the fuck are you doing here?! How did you get in?!" He shouted, walking over towards her.

"Watch it, Malfoy," she stated angrily, holding the glass like a weapon in her hand, "this time I'll make sure I hit my intended target."

"Oh for fuck's sake, you're acting like a spoilt little… Daddy's girl" He taunted, sitting down on a chair some distance away from her. He realised she was slightly inebriated, and took advantage of it, though careful not to come any closer towards her. The remark he gave was cutting. He didn't care for her anyway.

"Spoilt little girl?! I'm truly fucking sorry, Malfoy, I realise I wasn't fucked up the arse by my dad in order to get the next fucking toy I wanted."

He got up and held out his hand in order to slap her to the floor, but Ginny smashed the bottle of firewhiskey; providing herself with another weapon in case he stepped any closer. The atmosphere was thick with tension. It would have exploded altogether, taking both Ginny and Draco with it if it wasn't for the grandfather clock stowed away in the corner reminding them that it was midnight. The shock made them both jump a little and Ginny quietly laughed it off.

"I'm calling in someone to take you away, back to your common room, before you cause yourself any more embarrassment." Draco stated while drawing his wand from his robe. Ginny, in her state, had almost forgot she had the power of magic on her side. She fumbled with her own pockets trying to find her own wand.

"No, you don't." He quickly said, realising what she was about to do. He took the risk and removed both the glass and broken bottle from her, wrestling with her to get them out of her grasp.

"N-No! You stupid bastard! Why don't you take f-.. just everything of mine!" She said, stumbling a little. The effects of alcohol had gone completely to her head, and the sight was proving to be pathetic to Draco. He steadied her with one of his hands and set her down on the chair he was occupying. Ginny remained slumped on the chair, looking at Draco and breathing heavily. She was not yet done.

"Take everything!" She screamed as she struggled to her feet once more, taking off her watch and throwing it at Draco. "You've taken nearly everything I valued!"

"You're being too unreasonable, even for a girl of your standards." He said; catching the watch and throwing it back at her. She flinched as the watch made impact with her arm, and it limply bounced off and onto the floor. Ginny wanted to sob her eyes out, but she didn't want to make an even bigger fool of herself while in the company of Malfoy. Nonetheless, at the same time, she didn't care either.

"You're such a mess." He commented.

Ginny looked up at him. She wasn't sure if there was a smile playing on his lips. "You'll.. will always be the same cruel vindictive bastard you were born as. And I swear, you will be used, screwed up and thrown out of this society if I have anything to do with it."

"I'll _weasel_ my way out." He said dangerously.

"No one will believe you."

"You'll be surprised who already does." Dangerously nearly giving himself away.

She looked at him a little shocked, and he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the clogs that had started to turn. He decided to act aloof at any rate, silently reprimanding himself for giving so much away like that.

"So, why're you here?"

"You're sick. Your whole family's sick."

She made no sense to an observer, but Draco understood. Draco leaned in towards her and smiled at her. Just as he was about to answer, she pushed him away, but the impact made her lose her footing. He would have gladly let her fall into a slump, but Granger came up behind her and held her up.

"What the hell's going on!"

"Ask her, she's the one who tried to attack me just then."

"Leave it off, Draco."

"Draco?!" Ginny squealed.

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione immediately replied.

"How very Slytherin of you." Draco dangerously smiled once again, watching Hermione struggle with Ginny's weight and the horror of what she had just done to her best friend's sister.


	8. White

This is probably the shittiest chapter I've wrote. Revision sucks, I cant believe anthony burgess actually did this course without wanting to maim people on a daily basis towards the end of each year. More life ranting continues after the chapter.

Sorry again for any mistakes, I have nicked snippets of the last part of this chapter from an original trash fiction i'm writing.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Eight: White**

"I… I didn't mean to." She stuttered after long silence.

"You did the first thing that came into your head. You acted on instinct." Draco mocked as he pulled Ginny up by the shirt and dragged her to the sofa.

"For God's sake, be careful with her!" Hermione protested as she softly attempted to make Ginny at least look more comfortable; Draco's positioning left Ginny's body looking skewered as if she was an attacked victim. Hermione quickly realised the irony of it as she herself had reduced Ginny to such a state. It was hardly Draco's fault for showing the truth of it. She also realised that she was slipping into 'muggle talk', using her native regional idioms, spurting them out over and over again. Hermione had almost forgotten Merlin existed, let alone the word itself was open to be used for profanity.

It took a few babbling moments for Hermione to subdue; she sat against the sofa, her eyes wide and her hands almost in position to pray, her thumbs settling against her chin and lips. Draco himself sat cross legged on the floor, his back against the fireplace, his steely eyes closely watching Granger, trying to decipher each thought that flickered on her face. She was like a lamp in the wind, frantic yet still burning nonetheless.

"Calm down." He commanded, unable to take much more Griffindor-styled guilt. It was always guaranteed to be the most dramatic manifestation of conscience. His generally stoic personality detested it completely; it was a waste of emotion if the problem could be easily fixed. Hermione ignored him. "Granger, we can fix this. Either she'll be too drunk to remember or we could obliviate her. Problem solved."

Hermione scratched the top of her forehead irritably, knowing he was right. _Prick_. She knew what her actions entailed though, and that was something she was most afraid of. She protected Malfoy and picked him over Ginny. _Since when did it get to this?_ Illogical. Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts as she looked onto Ginny. For a moment she thought Ginny wasn't breathing, so she held up her finger under her nose to feel some air come out.

"She's alive, quit worrying." Draco assessed as though he had his own fingers there, feeling Ginny's peaceful breath on the little hairs on his hand. Hermione dropped her hand by her side and bowed her head; a Siegfried Sassoon poem enveloped her in a second or third slight fit of anxiety.

"_You are too young to sleep forever; And when you sleep, you remind me of the dead._"

Hermione shot a look at Draco, "Please, you know I've lowered my defences, don't disrespect me by using Legilimency on me."

"I'm sorry." It was the first true sincere statement she had heard him make since finding him in their common room with Ginny. She nodded her forgiveness in reply.

"Lets clean up then, we've a bit of work to do before we go to bed." Hermione stated, rolling the sleeves of her robes up. She would deal with her inner little demons later, right now she had to be practical and cover up the slip up both she and Draco had contributed to. It still passed her mind, _what if Remus is right… what if he is using his charm on me to swindle his way out of shit and leave me six miles behind in it?_ The trust she had in Draco wavered after that. She would question his motives silently, preparing for the worst he could do, but she wasn't sure if she could prepare for being emotionally wounded just yet. Hermione shook her head as she levitated Ginny to her room, leaving Draco to clear up the broken bits of bottle on the floor.

They needed to talk. She at least needed to give Harry some information to keep her nose clean for a while.

**000000000000**

He had thought about offering her his bed to stay whilst Ginny lay incapacitated, taking up more than half of Hermione's bed. He would have thought the Heads would have had the luxury of double beds at least, but they both still had the same single standard bed and mattress given to all students. Draco pressed his ear against his room wall, but could hear nothing from the Granger-Weasley camp. He shifted back into bed and frowned slightly whilst muttering silly incantations with his wand, creating images of sheep passing through imaginary gales.

He hated it when he was unable to sleep.

Just when Draco thought he was feeling calm enough to settle into sleep, a sudden thought struck his heart and made it sick with fear. These strange panic attacks were fast becoming a regular occurrence lately, and more frequent than Draco was used to. The last time these strange feelings took a hold of him was last year; being told Dumbledore's life was dependent on his very hands wasn't exactly joyous for a fifteen year old Draco to hear.

He knew what the source of sickness was; the thought of his father finding out Draco was fraternising with the enemy. Somewhere along the line, it was bound to come out and Draco would be left in the thousand mouths of a dragon, a hybrid of a being so dense, it would assimilate Draco's being completely. Draco did not want to especially die in such a way. He didn't want to die at all. He was so afraid of death.

When he was little, the thought of demons and Hell produced such a fear in him; he would sleep with the duvet over his head, completely suffocating him. Draco thought if he didn't do this, the demons would surely see him; the duvet and bed sandwich was a safe zone, one where they couldn't enter. He would keep a slight fraction of the corner of the duvet away from the mattress so he could breathe, but only a slight fraction. Draco didn't take those kinds of risks back then.

The sudden sharp pains of fear and pulling sensations on his heart took Draco back ten years, and he found himself covering his head with the duvet again. If it was up to him, Draco would never go home, would never face his father, but if life so far had taught him one thing, it's that there's always confrontation, whether you want it or not. It's a fool's game to try and cheat it. _Much like death_, Draco sullenly thought, images of Hell coursing in his mind's eye.

_Jab._

Draco's eyes flew wide open. _Demon._ He didn't move, the blood had drained from his face, and though the adrenaline was coursing through his body, all he was able to do with it was shut his eyes so tightly, he could see shapes of colours from the pressure.

"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, pushing him again. _How is he even able to breathe under that ridiculous duvet?_

Malfoy sprung out from his duvet so quickly in response, she was taken aback and a slight jolt washed over her as well. He looked at her, unblinking. Draco was so very close to holding Hermione and pulling her deep in the centre of the bed, as if he was Hades and she was Persephone, never to let her go until summer and light splashed over the scenery.

"Jesus, what's happened to you?" She asked, still standing, not even sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"Nothing, just don't like being woken up so abruptly." He said defensively. So far in their recently developed friendship, she had not brought up the day she punched him and he did not want to remind her of what a weakling he was at times. That topic had been successfully avoided and he intended it to stay that way. He breathed deeply. "That Weasley girl still in your room?"

"Yeah, she wont wake til mid morning, I reckon. I just came here because I think we need to talk."

"Now's hardly the time, Granger."

"Look, so far, I've had nothing to report back to the Order. I don't want to look suspicious." She said, beating around the bush. Somehow she could not ask him directly.

"Can't this save until tomorrow evening? Is now a really appropriate time?" He repeated again.

She folded her arms, knowing he was right. The residing worry and aftershock from earlier on that evening still hadn't left her yet. Hermione wanted arms to hold her and a voice to tell her it would be okay, it would work out. Since no one was ever there to tell her that, she had made up an imaginary essence called White who would wrap his arms around her and whisper softly in her ear _it'll work out fine, Hermione_. And somehow, even though she knew it was just a little fantasy, it worked, she felt better. She moulded him out of pillows and duvet, sculpted him out of echoes and soft breezes. He would only come when she was in solitude though, and with Ginny in the room, it did not work at all.

"No, not at all," sighed Hermione in reply. She looked at Draco and shrugged, getting up to leave.

She looked back at him before closing the door behind her, and for a split-second, she swore Draco was White. However, when she blinked, she realised it was just the moon and starry sky his hair embedded within itself.

"Stay." He simply said.

Hermione looked at him curiously, "Why?"

He laughed, "Déjà vu. I'm sure we've had this conversation before… do you ever feel like just running away, or are you more of a moral high ground person than I gave you credit for?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"I really want to run away." He said honestly, looking up at her. The moonlight made her look equally ethereal.

His confession was enough to make her stay with him for a while, massaging his hair absent-mindedly until he fell asleep, feeling a little safer.

**000000000000**

By the end of the next day, Hermione had ironed any creases that were possibly caused by Ginny's outburst. Thankfully, Ginny could remember none of it and Hermione remoulded Ginny's memory when Ginny asked her what she had said to Malfoy. She was successfully subdued with Harry taking her back up to the Griffindor common room. Malfoy was absent when Harry arrived and departed with Ginny, something else Hermione was thankful for, although she could not escape the look in Harry's eye reminding her of her duty. She had simply nodded in reply, bringing her fingers to her temples.

That night she lay near the fireplace, reading some pages of History for an essay she had to complete for Binns. Draco was upright, fixing his tie for yet another Slytherin affair. Hermione had enquired as to the reason for yet another occasion, but he simply did not reply with the answers she wanted. It made her so angry and if she was able to trick him into a question, she would, but she was not manipulative enough at all.

Draco paused whilst fixing his cufflinks, "What do you think of me?"

"'The Questioner, who sits so sly shall never know how to reply.'" Hermione, tired of him avoiding questions, quoted almost instantly in response. Out of everything she read from Auguries of Innocence, this was the only line she remembered from the poem.

"Oho, so the mudblood now thinks she's poet." Draco cruelly retorted, wanting to hurt Hermione's pride.

"Oh, fucking grow up." Hermione said as she threw her pen at him before walking off.

"You were the one who started it, quoting bloody Blake. What's that supposed to mean anyway?" He said, following her; watching her pull on her jacket and grab her wand.

"You wanted to know what I thought of you, sweetheart. And that's exactly what I think." Hermione had more to say more and though she could've held back, she didn't for once, "I think you're a fantastic talker, you talk loads but you talk shit, what you say has no point to it, and when I ask you for something that has a point, you come out with, like a spoilt little brat, I may add, 'Whaddaya think of me?' What the fuck am I supposed to think of you? All I get from you is empty words!"

There was silence after Hermione was done. She leaned against the common room door, closing her eyes and massaging her temples again. _Why do I care? I should just go back to how it was and save all this strife_. Whilst she did this, Draco watched, faltering, unable to think of something to say back which required a point. He knows she's right, it was said in her silence. He could've said he was sorry, but he was too stubborn and had too much pride to do that. Hermione had nothing else to say either; she had said what she wanted to. _How stupid of me to think anything more of him._

She turned around and slid the key into her bedroom door lock, about to open it.

"Wait," He said. This was a turning point for him. Hermione still had her hand on the door but turned around to look at him. His arms are folded, his blonde hair still not played with enough to look respectable for whatever he was attending, and he had his eyes on the floor.

"What're the Death Eaters planning on doing next?" Hermione asked again.

"Well, they're definitely not planning to fall for an enemy." He answered quietly without thinking.

"What?" Anger rose in Hermione's eyes. There wasn't even a blush apparent, she was ashamed he heard her that night, but was angrier he had the audacity to bring it up in such a way. She walked over to where he stood, leaving the keys in the door. Draco retreated a little, but she pressed on,

"At least I don't list my conquests like a fucking psychopath. How was welsh number two, by the way? And how's Daddy felt about that, sent him another letter?" _That was harsh_ she told herself. The words came out before she had any control over her vocal chords.

"Gettin' a bit too personal there, girl." Scowled Draco. "How dare you say that! After the gesture I make? Yo – "

Hermione cocked her head at him wanting to cock a muggle gun instead, "I love how you make all this revolve around you."

"For fuck's sake."

"No. 'Cause it's all about you, ain't it? As long as you're feeling alright with the crew, you don't care about the shit you're getting _me_ into!" She almost shouted, walking towards him.

"Just 'cause you've got issues doesn't mean you have to drag me down with you." He retorted, not meaning it.

She walked into her bedroom, picking up some essentials. She had made up her mind, she was going to stay with Ginny tonight and forget this madness. Draco stopped her by standing in the doorway, prohibiting her access.

Draco sighed, looking down as did she. He shook his head unable to find that reason why he was in the position he was. He tried to conjure up some words of wisdom from Snape that could explain why, but there was nothing. Hermione waited with a bag in her hand, her throat thick and a frown on her lips. She was waiting for Draco to move so she could get out and run as fast as she could. She gave Draco a questioning look, but keeping with tradition, he didn't set to answer it. Hermione had enough of that.

"I'm going to go now." She said without promise as she collected herself, holding her rucksack firmly in hand. She was wrong to think she could leave so easily this time. Hermione didn't leave in the woods, what made her think she could go now, with all they had shared. She knew she wouldn't be able to bring herself to leave so swift the moment he asked her to stay. Even she was surprised when she did find herself wandering back to her room when she was able to. But then again, it would always be Draco who moves in of his own accord and it would always be him who leaves and never comes back. This is how he deals the deck to win the game.

"No," He said, putting his hands on her shoulders, stopping her from moving any further. Her head tilted up towards his and those eyes began working that confused but sassed expression.

"I'm leaving this time." He said abandoning her in the bedroom, making his way back to the common room door.

"I'll be gone by the time you get back!" She shouted to him.

He shrugged as he opened the door, "No you won't. You're going to stay here all night."

Hermione sat on the bed watching the door close on her, wondering what on earth had just happened; dropping her bag beside the bed and watching the tables turn on her.

But she smiled.

* * *

So yeah, life ranting continuing:

thank fuck Introducing Semantics exam passed away today, possibly along with any chance I had of passing it, but what's done is done. I've just got Morphology & Syntax and Textual Communities left. Better updates to be expected when 23rd rolls around.

I've got some ideas for other Draco/Hermione stories, I might start them alongside this, or wait til I've finished/got bored with this one. It's up to you, as the reader. If you're committed, I'll be commited. Other stories may either be more fluffy/sexy/more cynical of love, maybe more cynical because my love life is absolutely dire at the moment. I am also feeling broody, but i have to control myself. I'm 19, i would drop the baby on its head if i had one, but some of the girls from my old school seem to be babymaking machines. 5 delivered, 2 babies in the works. True fact. Definitely not a fanfiction story, I promise you. Welcome to the slums of England.


	9. Le Petit Mort

Show me the money. This is the first time I've expanded on a sex scene and whilst actual sex is lovely, writing it is hard work without sounding like a virgin (9 inch cock, yeah right), a sleaze (there is no nice word for the vagina) or a dipstick. I hope I havent done too badly.

I rarely watch american sitcoms (never watched friends) but i've massively got into House lately, so I've nicked a quote from there. If you watch it, you'll know which one it is. The song I've used in here is called The Banality of Evil and its by Nine Horses. It's really good, but virtually unheard of.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Nine: Le Petit Mort**

Draco was surprised she had actually done what she was told and stayed. The days that followed after were tranquil; they talked peacefully once again, on conditions that Hermione was able to report something back to the order. A tip off of another impeding death eater attack, nothing too big that would compromise the situation Draco was in. It worked, both found themselves in the clear, Harry leaning off Hermione as a result of the Order victory and Draco was also left alone to hear of declining Death Eater numbers due to the first of many battles.

In the cocoon of Hogwarts, a womb for many students, the outside world rarely affected their daily life regimented by classes and Hogsmeade weekends. It was already the first of November, and both Draco and Hermione were presented with the task of organising the Christmas ball. A task Draco found completely absurd to give as much thought as the Headmistress wanted them to. _It's the first of fucking November_ he complained to Hermione once the Headmistress had dismissed them from her office.

When they returned back to their room, Hermione found a way to magically play her Muggle music so she could unwind a little, the week all in all had been a taxing one and she wanted escape from it for a while. Draco was impressed with her skill and the new flux of music he had never heard before; he sat down on the sofa, fingertips away from her reclining self. She had taken off her school robe, finding it stuffy to wear near the fireplace, and was now brushing a little dust off her shirt and skirt.

"Heard you slept with Greengrass the other day." She said matter of factly. Obviously she was annoyed, but what for, she wasn't quite sure.

"I needed relief. It was good."

When she had slept with Ron and Krum, she had done so because they wanted her, not because she wanted them. She was almost afraid of sex, finding it distasteful; she hated knowing she was naked, finding faults to think of throughout the duration.

"I don't particularly find it enjoyable." She said, voicing her thoughts. Hermione flicked her wand changing the song to one that she could drift off to.

"I suppose, I mean… sex _could_ kill you. Do you know what the human body goes through when you have sex? Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets, respiration becomes rapid and shallow, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere, and secretions spit out of every gland, and the muscles tense and spasm like you're lifting three times your body weight. It's violent, it's ugly and it's messy, and if God hadn't made it _unbelievably_ fun, the human race would have died out eons ago."

Hermione rolled her eyes in response.

"I've never felt any of that. I just feel grotesque."

_Hey… hello neighbour  
__Hey… hello neighbour, right you are_

"Tell me something. Have you ever had an orgasm?" He asked with such sobriety, Hermione couldn't help but laugh first before answering.

"If you're going to make fun of my experience in that field, it's fast wearing thin, Draco. You've asked if I've had sex before and I've answered truthfully."

"I asked if you had sex, not if you've had an orgasm. Stop avoiding the question by assuming I'm asking after your talent in bed. I just want to know."

"No. No one's made me come." Hermione said after a few moments of silence. Draco heard a hint of pride in her answer, as though she was too good for anyone to have been able to reduce her to le petite mort, too resistant to the basic instincts which make a person human. He now saw both the similarity and difference in the common description given onto them. Strangers would point out both were not really human, which was right to varying extents. Draco had the banal instincts, the love of everything flesh and hunger, but closed tight in a seashell when it came to human emotion, and Hermione, who was so full of platonic love, had shut off her primitive side, cast it within herself so deep, it would take an extraordinary diver to retrieve it.

"Why do you think that is?"

She shrugged. He hated it.

_There was a time  
__Not so long ago  
__I was a master of everything I surveyed  
__Yes, there was a time  
__We did it my way  
__We'll do things my way_

"Do you remember when we kissed?" He wanted to shock her, catch her unprepared equipped with no logical answer, pull her down from her pedestal and derange each one of her senses systematically until she had nothing left but urges and instinct.

Her eyes widened as expected, "Why're you bringing that up?"

He shrugged. She scowled.

"What? Why're you bringing that up for?" _You didn't before, what's changed?_ She added silently. Hermione knew it was stupid hoping for an answer that could tangle itself within her little hopes, but she didn't really know what she wanted either. The intimate moments she shared with Draco tested her character; the whole experience was one she would not have encountered without his presence, his essence, _ence ence ence_. The repetition of reasons and descriptions timed itself to her heartbeat, beating erratically, fitting itself in her pulse.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked her.  
"It was just a kiss."  
"Answer the question, Hermione."

_Hey… hello neighbour  
__Hey… hello neighbour, right you are_

"Yes." She resigned.

He nodded smiling and asked her another question, "Why?" The question was partly rhetorical, it was a question which overtook him when he was thinking and not thinking during the day. This entanglement with Granger wasn't going to lead to profit, there would be a loss of both their lives if anyone realised what was going on under their noses. The sudden thought made him feel uncomfortable and ugly for regarding her in such a way. He was a boy afraid.

_I don't believe in what you believe  
__Your skin is filthy  
__And your gods don't look like god to me_

"Because it was wrong to have enjoyed it," She simply assessed. The song's mellow rhythm was slowly intoxicating her, bringing to surface the memories of the kiss.

"Because you know my secrets and wanted to know one more." Draco affirmed. "Because every time you share my bed, you can't stop thinking about what it would feel like."

She looked at him and shook her head, but he was right. Each time she had slipped into bed with him, she was heightened in a world of sensations that swam through her, each pulse reached far past her wrists and she felt the need, the urge, the desire that pumped through her. Hermione had never felt that kind of strange desire she was presented with when intimate with Draco.

"You can't shake it out of your head."

"Does that mean you can't either?" Hermione snapped back, closing into him, so they were a breath apart. She didn't break eye contact with him and held herself steady.

He did not cower from her like she had expected him to. Whenever one of them had made a move, the other retreated, but he broke the rules, he held his ground. Draco took his forefinger and hesitantly drew a faint line down her cheek, so delicate it tickled her and tingled for minutes after.

_But I want to touch you  
__Now that isn't right  
__No, that can't be right  
__But I want to touch you_

She still held her position, not wishing to move and break the moment, but at the same time, she didn't wish to conquer more space, just in case he rejected her. No, Hermione resumed her neutral position because if he did reject her and walk away, she would not look the fool. So she waited in front of him, and upon feeling her lips dry, she licked them, still keeping the intense gaze on him.

Licking her lips was enough for Draco to react primitively; he stole the distance of breath and invaded her senses by kissing her. He did not even wait for her to open her mouth; he stole the distance completely, driving his tongue in before pulling on her lip with his teeth. A surge of warmth rushed over Hermione when he did that, her pulse echoed loudly in every inch of her body, thundering.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, raking her fingers through his hair, massaging his neck, dragging her nails over his shoulder blades. In turn, he pulled her in closer to him, enclosing her by the waist, keeping another hand on her jaw, playing with both her hair and rubbing her jaw line. Hermione gave as good as she got, he realised, as she sucked on his lips in return before running her tongue against the insides of his mouth.

At that moment, Draco made an important decision. He would not let her forget this; he would make sure she remembered until the day she died.

Knocking her mouth out of the way with his nose, he tilted her face so he could kiss her jaw line, changing the way he kissed so he would catch her off balance, provoking small gasps from her as he reached the base of her neck. He kept his hands to try stop themselves running laps up and down her sides, instead they savoured her as much as they could, massaging the inches slowly. They then found themselves around her back, then thumbing her bra line, until he lost patience and feverishly pulled them under her top. The impact of his hands on her skin was electric. She moaned openly, biting her lip, which in turn made Draco moan.

She was running short on breath, each breath that came out was a gasp, and she found herself acting on impulse. Hermione tried to lift Draco's shirt off, but he wouldn't let her.

"Not yet, sweetness."

Instead, she found herself exposed to him, her top lying on the floor nearby in a split second. Draco leaned onto her neck sighing after releasing her from her shirt. In the soft light, she looked divine half dressed, her breasts just contained by her bra. He wanted more skin though, miles and miles of it, so he began to work on her modest pleated skirt and tights.

And instead of feeling grotesque, she found herself feeling more than just a little pretty, a little more than just wonderful; every apprehension was replaced with more hunger. Hermione revelled in Draco's reaction, feeling every reaction of his through her wandering hands. However, for every article of clothing she had taken off, he resisted her tries for him to be reduced to the state she was in. He wanted the following moments to be all her, and not because he was egalitarian, just because he had something to prove, something to show off.

After undoing her bra, he let his fingers play with her breasts, rubbing gentle circles over her nipples, and whilst he did so, he lowered her so she was laid on the sofa. Hermione pushed her hair so it lay on one side of her face as she did not want to look more of a mess than she already did. She could feel hot air rushing up to both her cheeks and her… _oh what word is it_ the _core_ of her being, according to Anais Nin.

Hermione pulled Draco down to her, she wanted his mouth instead of his fingers, it was brash of her, it was banal, but at that moment she didn't care at all. Her breaths were gasps, soft moans caught up like air balloons drifting around the room. Draco smirked but the smirk vanished into a pleasured O shaped mouth as he watched Hermione's face contort with brutal pleasure. She didn't want his mouth to ever leave her breasts, it felt heavenly to her. "Harder." She said breathlessly and he did as she asked, nibbling harder on her, but he stopped himself from biting. He did not want to hurt her.

He pulled her back up so she was sitting straight on his lap and turned her around so she was facing away from him, kissing her on the back of the neck, massaging her shoulder blades, running her fingers up and down her feminine torso, toying with her knickers, teasing her by rubbing his fingers along her inner thigh but taking them away before reaching the protected mound of flesh underneath. Each time he teased, she arched further, her arm reaching behind her and clawing on Draco's shoulder.

"Please." Hermione muttered, her heart fluttering beats.

He snapped her knickers off and she moaned, knowing what he would do next. His fingers played with her folds the same way his mouth had done with hers just ten minutes before. He enclosed her clit within his forefinger and middle finger and began stroking her up and down. _Just relax and concentrate on the feeling, Hermione_ he silently commanded. She was already substantially wet, and he found that different to the other girls he had slept with, none of them had been this wet, and she was soaking his robe underneath. He undid his pants and grinded against her, wanting to feel her more specifically and wanting to tip her off the edge completely.

Draco turned her around her again, positioning her back in the alcove of the sofa she had made when he was suckling her. This time he towered over her, releasing his raging erection from the confines of his boxers, but he didn't enter her, he just wanted to feel her vaginal lips enclosing his cock as he rubbed it against her, still keeping his finger running small tight circles over her clit, which was now engorged.

Hermione had her hands over her face as she arched against Draco, there were a few times he was missing the spot completely, but when he had his finger in the right place, he really did have it nailed completely and she found it hard not to show how good it felt. Using his free hand, Draco moved her arms out of the way, trapping them by the wrists above her head. He wanted to see her face as he did this.

It took every ounce of self discipline not to push in her and feel every inch of her insides as he fucked her slow and hard. He was harder than he had been in a while watching her rosy cheeks dampen with light perspiration. Her lower lip was slightly swollen from both Draco's vicious pulling and Hermione biting on it, and Draco moaned whenever she bit her lip because it was truly magical for him to watch it all.

He dipped his head over her breasts again, poking a little around her belly button which made her half laugh half gasp in response; to Hermione, everything was a myriad of caramel and pulsing growing pleasure she could not even begin to describe. He swapped his finger for his mouth; now suckling on her clit with the same fierce desire he had assaulted her lips with. Hermione gasped, gyrating against his face, stroking his hair with his hands.

She tasted sweeter than the other girls as well, there was hardly any bitter taste, the smell made him even more eager to continue and finish what he had started.

"Wha.. what is this?" She half gasped to herself, before moaning again. The sensations were unreal, surreal, anything but real. He moved his head to kiss her again, replacing his mouth and tongue with his fingers again, which she did not mind.

"I need you in me. I want you to fuck me." She said boldly, in between gasps whenever Draco assaulted her with more vigour.

"Later on,"

"No, now. Please." Hermione said desperately, "please, please, let me get what I want."

"All in good time, darling."

"Prick."

He laughed, sucking on her collarbone in defiance. The pressure inside her was slowly building, and she could feel it as though she was ascending stairs, swaying hard on a playground swing, each swing higher than the previous one. She moaned a little louder each time, and then…

"Oh girl!" He splurted as she tensed her body so much so it was like iron to Draco, and her face was a mix between pain and pleasure. She was moaning uncontrollably. He edged a finger in her, feeling her insides tighten and clench around him, contracting several times as the orgasm washed over her. Her body stiffened and spasms passed through, exhausting her.

_So this is what it feels like_, she always had wondered. The surge of soft hot, indescribable electricity rushed from inside herself past down to her legs and finished at her toes, making them tingle in response. Relief. Bliss.

And then she opened her eyes and realised what had actually had happened. Draco's finger was still on her clit and any pressure from them resulted in Hermione lurching forward slightly in reaction, so she removed them, looking at him with a bemused expression. Her mouth was parted and her eyebrows in a pleading position. Hermione could not understand how or why, but knew Draco had proved he was right and she had lost the superiority of being the better counterpart in every single area she knew.

"I… I hate you." She softly gasped.

"I know." He said quietly as he sucked on his fingers.


	10. Le Petit Mort 2

New title, as explained at the start. 'Brand New Colony' did not fit and with consideration the arc this story will take, the new title fits a lot better.

Sorry for the state of this chapter, next chapter will be a lot better. I just had to churn something out.

P.s. I may no longer be that much of a cynical bitter bitch anymore as I have found someone to entertain myself with. He is extremely tall and very nice, but he does not know the half of me, so maybe I'll end up leading a double life this summer... if I see him & if he sees me. Sucks when you find someone decent in your halls, 4 days before you all leave for summer. Sod's law.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Ten: Le Petit Mort 2**

She felt horribly betrayed by her body.

Hermione stared at him, her chest heaving, feeling little sweat gluing her back to the position she had found herself in. Some baby hairs had also plastered to her temples. She had never found herself in such defeat, and worst of all, her moment of vulnerability exposed in front none other the bane of her existence. She could not even fathom how the events turned from A all the way to Z in fifteen minutes.

And when Hermione recovered, she felt betrayed by her soul.

Though known for her ultimate stance on compromise and working in halves, she was essentially an all or nothing girl. Now she had a taste, she wanted it all; otherwise it would be for nothing.

He observed her, reading her as though she was a book on his lap under an obscure light. Her last comment humoured him, it tickled him. Draco knew when she said she hated him, what she meant was she hated herself too. Even those who hated prejudiced people hated themselves for being prejudiced against the aforementioned; this was an observation he would follow to his grave as he believed it to be true. Anything to feel he was right and superior to those who hid behind political correctness and social courtesy like Hermione did.

In the space of fifteen minutes, he had untangled her, sunk her into the underworld and once he had finished he had not been ashamed. She was in rage, he should at least feel some guilt or remorse for wounding her in such a way, as all girls remember their first, and she would always remember him for bringing her to heaven which felt like hell and caramel.

However, she was not feeling post-orgasmic bliss as popularly documented in the films she had watched, the books she had read. She still felt horribly ambushed and betrayed by herself, but she had enjoyed it, and that was what bothered her the most.

"Hermione," Draco softly said, emphasising the softness by gently touching her cheek with his damp fingers mixed with herself and his saliva.

She turned her cheek away from him with great strength, for the events that had unfolded broke down her wall she had carefully built over the last couple of years. A wall which Draco was intent on completely demolishing, with the added intention of bringing together both the East and West Germany within her. Did he not understand by doing so, she would not only become vulnerable but susceptible to that four letter word. That love would single-handedly lead to complete loss of logic, yielding a madness she would never understand and fall under.

"I don't understand th-"

"You're not supposed to." He intercepted, leaning over her, leaving a short kiss the exact place he had touched momentarily before. Hermione involuntarily yawned in response, tired from the physical exercise Draco had put her through. He took the hint well enough and with a flick of a wand, she was dressed in one of his t-shirts, as her school uniform would take more advanced magic than he was accustomed to using so late at night. Draco carried her across to her bedroom and lay her in her own bed, pushing her to one side as he took the other.

It was the first time he had shared her bed like this, every other time, she had come to him. He felt he owed it her by humiliating her in such a way. At the same time she did not want him to share her bed, for all boys leave their scent on duvets and pillows for hours to come, staining the cotton with their presence, like cigarettes. As Draco was both a boy and a smoker, Hermione didn't want to spend the morning after pining after him, smelling her sheets, heightening the reality which would soon become a dream.

Hermione remembered the soft innocent kisses they captured on each other's lips the first night they had encountered each other in such an intimate way. The pressure of her memory suffocated her as she knew it was all pretence, he had ensnared her and she would sleep with the enemy to watch her friends die.

"Stop thinking horrible, wicked thoughts about me. It's a turn-off." Draco muttered whilst perched on the edge of Hermione's bed, running his cloak and trousers off his body with his cloak. In a succession of smooth movements, he had his body around hers beneath her own quilt. Hermione would have laughed in any other time and place; he was spooning her, kissing the back of her neck and shoulders.

_You shouldn't let him do this._

"Oh, I know." Hermione mouthed to herself, but Draco had taught her a lesson in primitive urges, and she was always a good student. Her rational mind still screamed obscenities at her, but it just made her all the more eager for Draco, just for this particular godforsaken night, if she could by just being curious and not falling six leagues more for him.

As she was facing away from him, he gripped her jaw and pivoted her whole body to face him. Whilst she had her eyes closed, like a lifeguard sleeping, Draco had his open, though not frantic, he was merely taking in the sensuous and gleaming skin the darkness left Hermione that particular night. He leaned in to kiss her, a kiss more violent than what he had given her before, but she did not complain or wince in pain, she bit him as much as he did her, swallowed as much as she could within her mouth before spitting it back out to retract back into his.

Draco was relentless, he plundered her mouth again and again, pulling, tugging, at times pushing her face to the side as he bit her neck and sucked on her collarbone. Whilst he had done this, Hermione ushered him on top of her and moved her legs so she could wrap them around his waist and thighs, resting her soles on the back of his knees. She also sat up slightly in defiance to his fierce kisses; in all honesty, she wanted him to stop as she was sure her lips were bleeding, she could feel the metallic taste within her mouth. Hermione needed him to be soft, but he would not dishonour the surge of passion he felt being in a new experience like this.

Like before, Hermione's breath halted and shuddered, she needed that blissful feeling again. Draco stroked her hair, pushing it so he could see her face better, and in turn she grinded her hips against his and pulled on his hair painfully so he would know she wanted it all over again. Draco pulled his t-shirt off of her and ran his hands up and down her torso once more, lavishing attention over the sensitive spots he had found within her skin only an hour beforehand.

Hermione tugged on the waistband of his boxers, she did not need preparing like some main course at a dinner, she was ready, she was…

"So wet." Draco moaned quietly, slipping his fingers into her again.

Hermione rolled her eyes, picking up Draco's wand and with a short, controlled flick, she had rid him too of any clothes as well. She hesitated before slipping her hand back down there, though. This was the point where it could all be a systematic disappointment (although, up until tonight, it always was a failure in a way), or emphatic proof of manhood.

She touched his shaft and found it was of average length, maybe above average, but if it was, it was only by an insignificant amount of inches. Hermione wished she didn't note down the size like this, but always found herself doing so. Draco continued to rub circles into her clit, dipping some fingers into her occasionally. She could not wait any longer, she was demanding, impatient and she needed this as much as he wanted it.

Hermione locked Draco between her legs and used her hands to guide Draco's cock to her entrance, when both touched tentatively; she looked up at him questioningly.

"Yes?" She asked.

"Yes." He said in reply.

He pushed himself into her slowly so both parties could feel it, enjoy the control and new textures from each other's body. She moaned in reply, the friction feeling good. He moaned at the warmth and tightness of it all. After a few gentle slow strokes, he pushed himself hard into her, drilling her so when he was in, he was in to the length of his hilt and it looked as though they were Siamese twins.

Hermione cried out, gripping her nails into his neck and back. He leant to kiss her and as he violently kissed her once more, he slammed into her some more times. Soon he had enough and pulled her up so he sat cross-legged with her cradled in his arms, still conjoined by their sexes, he lifted her up and down upon himself, but she was too small for such a manoeuvre and could only stay in the position she was sat in.

"Sorry," she whispered as he lay her back down. He didn't say anything so she flipped him onto his back and got on top. No one was ever too petite enough to go on top. And Hermione hoisted herself onto him, holding herself steady by lifting her arms above her to hold the edge of the shelf above the bed. Draco made sure he helped by meeting her, thrust for thrust as she had done previously.

Soon she grew tired and Draco resumed again on top.

"Come." She said, kissing his neck. She was tired; she wasn't going to come herself, and maybe faking it this time wouldn't be—

"No. Don't even think about faking it," Draco said, grinding his way in and out of her, "I know you won't come, don't insult me by pretending."

"Okay." Each time he pushed into her, she responded in a half cry, half moan, and he knew that was pleasure enough, he had already given her an orgasm and now it was time to eat his cake.

"Come for me." She said, nibbling on his lip. Draco inwardly smirked, knowing next time she would have a more filthy mouth on her as it had been repressed for so long by her annoyingly logical mind.

It didn't take long for his back to start tingling as she tightened up for him, he didn't want to pull out either, wanting to wax and wane his whole essence into her and dirty her like he always thought she had done to him. In one final thrust he moaned openly and dug his head down into the nook of her neck as he felt his cock stiffen and jerk as he came.

Draco was covered in sweat, his whole body weight on Hermione, but she did not feel it crushing her, instead it made her feel protected and secure. He winced as he withdrew himself from Hermione, feeling painfully sensitive and dried himself off as much as he could using a transfigured towel from his shirt that was discarded on the floor earlier on.

Hermione picked up his t-shirt and threw it back on again, as she was always too self conscious of her body to sleep in the nude. She took Draco's hand and wrapped it around her, kissing his fingers, falling asleep in the cocoon built of Draco's sweat, skin, semen and the duvet.

_This is madness. _The whole of Hermione agreed, but with different perceptions on the madness.

Her skin tingled and she felt light like a bubble trapped in post-coital bliss. She was soft, so soft. She guessed Draco felt the same as she slowly drifted off to sleep, however his body felt like lead, pain pricking his arm with the regularity and precision of a steady heartbeat.

He was being summoned.


	11. Death & Co

Possibly another worst-chapter-ever-written. It couldn't be helped as I wanted to push something out for the sake of pushing it out to continue on the story.

My other story _A Fool's Game_ is being reworked and another chapter will be added soon, just figuring out how to write it and make it all cohesive. Being unemployed is so bittersweet. As well as guys who say "I like you a lot, but I don't think it'll work with you being in one town and me being in another." I hate socially polite people for coming up with such bad excuses.

Moral of the irrelevant anectode: There is no such thing as a nice guy. And if there is, I pity him.

On with the show.

P.p.s Last lines are taken from Sylvia Plath's poem _Death & Co._

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Eleven: Death & Co.**

The cool air hit Hermione's skin first, attacking her dreams by melting holes into them so the scenery looked like a part of Dali's clock landscape. This unsettled her, so she tried to escape by tossing and turning and each time the duvet brushed against her, it burned her with the help of the cool icy air. Soon the cold won and her dreams had completely melted with her eyelashes parting and the darkness enveloping her completely.

Hermione remembered as soon as she woke up. She pushed her hands behind her to feel Draco, wanting to see him with her touch, but when her fingers were greeted with disappointing material that didn't even have the warmth of human presence, Hermione frowned and turned around.

The sight of him gone made her heart choke instead of beat.

**0000000000**

If only Harry could have the cold air to save him from drowning in his own dreams. He was enfolded within and within his dreams which would not let him free to drift back up to the surface until they were done. On the surface Harry was sweating, tossing and turning trying to escape from the heat as Hermione tried to escape the cold.

It was no use, the dreams were not done with him; Voldemort was not done with him yet.

"_Boy." The words slithered out. _

_Draco did not flinch in response, he stood tall and impassive; his posture impeccable, his tired eyes fighting the lack of sleep in exchange with the invading apprehension that flashed in his eyes momentarily. Draco was brought closer to Harry as Voldemort walked towards him and Harry wondered whether seeing these events through Voldemort's eyes had influence from Voldemort's own perception or whether he was at least free of them._

_Harry felt Voldemort's head cock a little and knew he was overstepping his boundaries in thinking so much in an environment he was only allowed to take on the role of being a spectator in. He did not want Voldemort to know the advantage he had over him, so he stepped back to merely watching in the darkness of Voldemort's eyes. _

_Lucius was also present, a few steps behind Draco himself. Harry wasn't aware until then how different Malfoy Senior and Junior looked until seeing them together before him and Voldemort. Lucius was so obedient, the traditions preceding him and the tasks that were already planned for him had slowly eroded whatever was likeable in his character. _

_Where there was nothing in Lucius' eyes, there was something in Draco's eyes. Maybe it was youth, but it edged Draco and sculpted a different mould of him compared to his father. _

"_Sir." Draco bowed._

_Now they were so close together, Harry could pick out little details only a lover or criticiser could. The gel in Draco's hair was messily applied in haste, the skin on his forehead showing the threat of a spot or two and most distinguishing of all to Harry and Voldemort was the scratch down Draco's neck; the angry mark which contrasted so heavily with his porcelain skin. From this Harry gathered both Voldemort and himself were philistines, but Harry was curious as to who could have been so close to Draco to attack him in such an intimate way._

"_You've been found lacking, Draco." Voldemort continued with such fluidity, it was dangerous in both pace and tone._

"_I'm sorry, Lord." He didn't give excuses; he just stated his simple apology. It was different from what the other Death Eaters would say. It was almost defiant as Draco did not beg for forgiveness by giving excuses as to why he had failed whatever the Dark Lord had set him. Though Draco was apologising, his voice held no humility and Voldemort stalked around him, trying to find a weak point through which he could enter Draco's mind._

"_I trust your father has informed you well of your role what comes next?"_

"_Yes. I'll devote myself fully once I am able to do so." _

_Voldemort smiled, and it made Harry sick to feel the facial muscles move like his did, "The last couple of tasks you devoted yourself to; they all were compromised."_

"_I'm not the weak link." Draco said defiantly. Harry wished to scold him, he knew that Draco knew Voldemort had a powerful temper. Harry had always viewed Draco as weak, a coward and a cheat. One who ran away in the face of adversity, a spoilt brat of a child who had no experience which defined his character. What was he thinking answering without mental prostrating to his Lord? _

_  
"I see and identify your weakness as your Malfoy pride, I have heard from the Parkinson family how you brag over plans that have been made. I see and identify it, and I also warn you what you already know."_

_Draco simply nodded, averting his eyes only when Voldemort had issued his threat._

"_I hardly see why you even bother wasting your time at Hogwarts; it isn't like you need the education for a prospective job, all it will do is give you a bad influence."_

_Draco stayed silent._

"_You did so well last year, Little Draco, why are you faltering now?" _

"_It takes more time finding ways to open a person than a closet." Draco answered truthfully._

_A static Hermione flashed before Draco's eyes involuntarily which both Harry and Voldemort had enough time to catch glimpse of and identify it simultaneously as a friend to one and a friend of the enemy to the other._

_Only Harry gasped, but little did he know, he was not the only one who inwardly gasped as well. _

"_Interesting." Voldemort mused._

"_How else did you expect me to find enough information to warn you of the Order investigating our hideouts?" Draco defensively asked, little anger intonating the beginning of his question._

"_Crucio." Voldemort simply said, pointing his wand at Draco. _

The sheer anger jolted Harry from the murky depths of his dream and brought him upright in his bed with sweat dripping down his forehead. It took Harry several moments to recollect himself, drop by drop against the beads of sweat collecting at his jaw line.

He knew waking Hermione would be more beneficial, but Harry instead found himself waking Ron up for counsel. Ron was a solid rock and could not be shifted from his sleep with great ease as Harry rediscovered trying nudging Ron over and over. Harry shook his head, impatient with the progress and lightly ran his fingers across Ron's arm as to mimic a spider crawling across.

"AH!" Ron jumped upright, almost in the same fashion Harry had done five minutes beforehand, but more comic for Harry's entertainment. "You bloody plonker!" He exclaimed seeing Harry before him, scratching his arm and neck in reflex.

"I just had the best seats to another showing of that new fantastic reality TV show, y'know the one, _Dancing with The Death Eaters_." Harry hurriedly said, pulling Ron's arms away from scratching himself.

"Oh, what makes this one such a surprise? You get more insights to Voldemort's daily life than Rita does of ours. Which is a lot by the way." Ron said, fighting the mental sensation of spiders running across his body.

"Draco was there this time."

"That wanker. How'd he get out of Hogwarts anyway? Aren't the wards stricter this year?"

"I have no idea. If he could get Death Eaters into Hogwarts, I'm sure he could get Death Eaters out."

"What was he doing there then? Getting his annual boning from the Dark Lord? '_Keep up the good work, Drakie and next time I'll let your family suck my dick!_'" Ron mocked in a high voice whilst flipping his hand. Since the death of his father, Ron had grown more like Harry in the sense he was no longer afraid and the fear had been replaced with anger and bitterness.

"Nearly. He was berating Malfoy for being a weak link in the previous missions, but what was strange was Malfoy thought of Hermione... He let his guard down briefly – both I and Voldemort saw it. Malfoy just put it down to where he'd been getting information to help the Death Eaters."

"No wonder he tried to hide it. He's been in Hermione's shadow for more than I've been in yours once it comes to being academically best at Hogwarts. Must hate admitting to cheating like that." Ron commented.

"Do you not find it strange he was thinking of her? And that he was so defiant against Voldemort. I mean, we _know _Malfoy and he is anything but defiant once it comes to a bigger bully."

"I personally think we should stop talking important matters with Hermione in her spiritual home aka the library and…. Kill Malfoy."

"This is serious." Harry sighed, the lack of fear in Ron brought about characteristics of an economic Fred and George show at times.

"Why are you not talking to Hermione then?"

"Because… This involves her." Harry said, ashamed he could not say the real reason, "Malfoy was on about how hard it is opening up a person compared to a closet."

"Hermione would never…"

"She lives in the next room, all this time we've been asking her to spy on him, we've not treated the situation as dangerous; who knows what could be going on there."

"The search for Voldemort's bloody keepsakes has been more preoccupying."

"Something else has been preoccupying Hermione more so than any quest from Dumbledore or any orders from us." Harry retorted.

If Hermione was present, she would have argued it was grief, though it was a lie… and she was not even present to argue the lie.

**000000000000**

Whilst Harry and Ron argued aimlessly amongst themselves over events and people they did not understand nor wanted to, Draco winced with pain as he crouched over his desk, struggling to hold his pen straight.

His mother had set him to bed earlier that night against his father's orders, and Draco knew she did it out of perceived motherly duty than of actual love. There was no real love left in the family, just professional duty for their Lord.

Draco had to be careful in what he penned down and how he would send it to the person it was intended to without dropping his pants and truly buggering everything up good and proper. He called upon a stray owl and implemented instructions upon it for any worst case scenario which Draco feared would be a real case scenario.

He scrawled upon the parchment as fast as his wounded body would let him, hoping its recipient would understand his encrypted message.

_The frost makes a flower,  
__The dew makes a star,  
__The dead bell,  
__The dead bell._

"_Somebody's done for._" Hermione read aloud two nights later on, only two hours after McGonagoll had announced Draco Malfoy's permanent departure from Hogwarts.


	12. Strangeways, here we part

Sorry for the wait, I had a job temping for a week. 7am starts are not my friend, but I've hopefully managed to pay at least the most part of my rent for this month. Which is good. What is bad is the fact we've recently found out that the area we're moving to is the roughest part of the city with gang initiations, turf wars and people getting shot and stabbed, but it's okay, ONLY 960 rapes in the last 4 year. Why o why did we not do extensive research, I do not know.

Anyway, this chapter had to be split into two whilst I was working on it. I'd love to just give it as one chapter, but it's already hit twelve pages so far and it's still unfinished. I originally planned for my story to go further than these 13 chapters, but I found this was a natural close and a sequel is definitely on the way if readers have enjoyed it and want one. Otherwise it can stand on its own, but I like the idea of writing a trahier odyssey in comparison with this trashy iliad, I think it'd work. They've had their journey to the middle, now it's time to return.

But not just yet. Chapter 13 on the way with a dramatic, dramatic finale.

P.s. All the italic dialogue are song lyrics from various (majority of them being The Smiths) songs. You need to listen to the Smith's _Well I Wonder_ song, its so beautiful and vulnerable.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Twelve: Strangeways, here we part**

"So I'll have the prefects informed, Granger." He said, scratching his forehead whilst yawning.

Though he addressed her, she was not there at that moment in time. A month and two weeks had passed since Draco had left. She was living in fog, in dreams, on bridges which never ended; in purgatory. Hermione was a girl who had spent her life safe in a house, in warm jumpers, fondling hot cups of coffee, but then one foggy day, she decided to run out into the cold mist, enraptured by it. Since then she was irretrievable, unreachable, and untraceable even to her own self.

She was Lost.

And though Draco was also lost, she was in a different Lost to him; she had no compass, no map; just her arms flailing around in front of her, hoping she would bump into him again on the long road to the middle. It was worse than being blind as the veil of grey disconnected her from the here and now, and she was arbitrary, and no longer had the senses to touch or be touched again since he had left her bed that night.

Now life seemed a series of dreams to Hermione; images flashed before her she could not quite make sense of, but brought a nostalgic tug as they floated within her head. This was why Hermione always preferred science and maths from a young age; at least there's a definitive answer – something either is right, or it is wrong. There is logic and reasoning, a factual explanation that underpins what precedes an event and what the probability of the event will lead to.

The world had slowly unbalanced itself and she slid into a quite irrational universe reluctantly.

"Granger!"

It startled her and she looked at him with wide eyes, releasing the fingernail she had absently been chewing, "Sorry. Yeah, your idea sounds good. I'll hand in this suggestion sheet to McGonnagall and see what she says on the matter. We've only… it's the 6th today, right? Well we've only two weeks before we break up for Christmas holidays, it'll be hectic but I'm sure we'll have everything under control if we can maintain this civility towards each other."

Blaise Zabini sighed and shook his head, "Not everyone in Slytherin is a member of the Death Eater Party."

"But every Slytherin is not to be trusted." Hermione quietly retorted, collecting her books from the table, leaving for her bedroom.

Draco had flapped his wings and caused a hurricane to ensue. He had changed everything; _a remarkable feat_, Hermione bitterly thought. McGonnagall's shock announcement of Draco's departure was a catalyst for the events that set in motion straight after; it was the beginning of kinetic after months of potential. McGonnagall immediately gave the Head Boy post to Blaise Zabini as she explained it would be fair to keep a Slytherin Head Boy for the interests of harmony within the school.

Zabini was easy to deal with, but the absence of Draco was not. The swap of cards led Hermione to believe she was now constantly being dealt a bad set of cards that had Death and Hermit inscribed over each one. _Somebody's done for_. What Hermione loved best about a poem was the ending. The door which creaks slowly shut in a novel, slammed shut with the ending of a poem. The ending line was self-sustainable as its own character, but the ending line Draco left her chilled her heart completely.

_Somebody's done for._ Only Draco Malfoy would leave such an ironic epitaph to Hermione for her to remember him by. It was as though she failed breaking a code each time she read it; and the entailments of such a statement led Hermione to believe either she was going to die or he was already dead.

"_Well I wonder… do you hear me when you sleep?_" Hermione asked into the night with all the whispers and howls the wind could carry in and out of her room.

Since Draco had left, she had pulled up the duvet to the windows and slept where she could hear sounds of silence and darkness, finding herself to be comfortable when she realised she was very insignificant to the beautiful tapestry of stars she could see above. The coming of December made her breath translucent as it spilled out into the air, steaming itself across her window, providing it with a lining that allowed Hermione to write into it. However, she did not write of Draco directly, just cryptically.

Draco's disappearance provoked Ron and Harry to also quit school, spurring on their search for pieces that Voldemort had left behind of himself; already they had divided him three times, and like the cat Voldemort had only six more times before death would overcome him. Hermione did not leave with them, straining their friendship a little more, she gave the excuse she would be more useful in the close proximity of books when assisting them. She still had her Head Girl badge and felt she was more capable delegating tasks instead of working as a team with Harry and Ron. She was frightened of foraging out into the unknown physically as mentally it had worn her down, scraped her heart and she was not sure how much her outer shell could take in succession.

Harry issued a half warning, half threat to her before leaving, "I know you, you are meticulous, but the information you've gathered for us from Draco has been vague to say the least, something else is going on, and I hope it hasn't jeopardised what the Order are fighting for."

Hermione feigned ignorance in reply, and Harry didn't press the matter further. He had not told her what he had seen, but he did not know if he had told her, she would have had no reluctance and come with them in a heartbeat. She was frightened when Harry uttered those words to her; the blood drained from her face ad she hoped she did not look as she felt inside. As a ghost. Nevertheless, Harry would never suspect "the worst case scenario"; where her and Draco had forged a friendship, become involved with each other in such ways she could not climb out of him. She did not know about him, but she was still trapped in a labyrinth of his touch, his little traits, of the gasp she'd expel above her when remembering the way his face remoulded itself into O shapes whilst in bed with her that night.

The worst case scenario had already happened.

And Hermione also did not even feel the end of an era had occurred when Harry, Ron and her had parted ways, instead she felt useless, foolish and free. She had no direct duty to them now, but what had she gained? She had pain she had never experienced before. A heart beats, a heart breaks. If it was Draco's biggest scam, his biggest triumph in humiliating Hermione, he had succeeded. The world is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel. She felt. He had torn apart her logic and reasoning, and wormed a road from her heart finally, pulling it out so it was a cord for absence, when she expected him to be there holding on.

The worst case scenario was still to come, and neither knew it. And in the end only Hermione would know.

**000000000000**

Miles away, she did not realise Draco had held onto the cord with the tips of his fore-finger and thumb for as long as it was humanly possible. He wanted to climb back up and down the lengths like a kite returning back to anchor. Draco ached for her once more, for being in the company of cold militant brutality; he wanted nothing more than to return back to her, her softness and her bed. Back back back to her, running on his tiptoes on this tightrope cord they had pulled out and connected together.

Then he realised he had to snap it.

"_No more apologies, no more apologies. I'm too tired, I'm so very tired. And I'm feeling very sick and ill today, but I'm still fond of you._" He excused, polishing his wand as there was nothing else to do. Draco flinched at times because the lacerations of his punishment the Dark Lord had kindly rewarded him still had their bite and power. Bella and Lucius had managed to both save and berate Draco once Voldemort was done with him, whilst Narcissa was kept to keeping the whole setting pretty. It was a sorry state of affairs, one which Narcissa reminded him of as she held his hand, asking why he had not done what the Lord asked for.

"Because I'm still fond of you." Draco mumbled to himself. He had not told Hermione, but he was ordered to dispose of her this year, savagely extracting knowledge from her using their favourite truth potion beforehand. That was his mission, and he kept finding excuses to push it off into the distance for as long as he could. It cost him greatly, as he was reminded when tried to lean back into his pillows. The pain was crucifying as expected to be, no pain relief potion would help. Nothing. One month and two weeks later on, and he still felt pain. For a moment he hated Hermione with every fibre of his being as she had caused all this unwanted pain.

She had caused him to be parted from her.

The threads had fallen and he could not move from the mansion; it was not his place to do so. His moves were carefully watched and he felt more like a slave each day that passed. He was wanted for the battles now, he was called up. Hermione had told him before not to heed the call up, but what choice did he have. He may not have been what he was brought up to be because of her, but because of her he had to become what he had spent the last three months running away from.

Before he would not have cared all that much, finally stopping the good fight and falling into the mould his parents and Voldemort wanted him to. This mould which would take centuries to climb out of; a well with no bottom and no water, just the lingering echoes and emptiness. However, with each conversation and close moment shared with Hermione, a different spark had ignited, one which made him want to fight, made him more young and alive in three months than he did for the majority of his years. He did not have to be high and regal with her; he could relax and not drawl, become everything base in a human but reap the beauty of it instead of watching the destruction.

_Such is life_, he thought. Hermione had once asked him why he went on being Voldemort's little pet for so long, as Dumbledore would have given him protection if he had asked. Before they had even kissed, she had accused him of being Machiavelli, a petit prince who would have do anything to ensure his fancy lifestyle was maintained. Hermione also begged him not to heed the call up of the Death Eaters, nevertheless, there was nothing he could do. When he showed her his arm and unfolded its secret, she had stepped away from him in horror.

"_But maybe I want to see the wheatfields over Kiel and down to the sea." He simply answered. She did not answer. "Please talk to me" he said. He was desperate and he did not know why. He wanted her to know that he was sorry and for to absolve him everything. He did not know why it was so important she did so. He pulled her hands towards him but she looked away, still not finding the stability to continue on in the same room as him._

He remembered how beautiful she looked as a tear slid down her cheek. He wondered how she was coping now, if she understood his letter to her, if she understood the status quo had changed and in turn everything else had to change so they were not compromised individually. Draco remembered how her hands felt within his that day he revealed his Death Mark to her.

_She still looked away from him, and as her hair was bound in a ponytail, he could follow the lines and shape of her jawline down to her neckline. She was beautiful in her own right, her nose turning pink as her face heated up, threatening to spill more tears, her lips pouted as she closed her eyes and shook her head. Her hands were still placed within his, if she had wanted to withdraw and run, she would have done, but Draco made sure she stayed. _

_It was then he didn't care what class she was, what situations they were in. He just needed her to speak to him, as he was sorry for what he had done. He was remorseful, he truly was. Draco held her hands tightly and manoeuvred himself so their torsos were at the risk of touching one another. He said sorry in the languages he knew, whispering it in her ear over and over again, against the pace of the rain which reined in guttural sounds. _

Now, his hands were failing on this cord which he had held onto for so long.

"_There is a rose that I want to live for, although God knows… There is a dance, and I should be with her._" He whispered looking at the fingers he had licked to insult her after he had done injuring her.

Two worlds had collided. What now? They had smashed bits of broken star onto each other, but what now?

"_Where will it lead us from here?_" He asked the night to pass on to her as he tentatively settled into his bed once more. It was like speaking to the dead.

**000000000000**

Hermione bit her lip, if there was anything more annoying than Harry and Ron playing crusaders; it was Harry and Ron playing super secret agents. Since they left, they had been contacting Hermione in the most ridiculous of manners; fearing their letters would be intercepted, they addressed the letters to Colin Creevey, who took such patience for Hermione to deal when taking their letters from him. Not only that, when replying back, she had to first send it with an owl to a designated owl in Hogsmeade and wait for both owls to return near the damn forest. It was ridiculous, not clever. Nevertheless, the wonder boys wouldn't listen to Hermione's suggestions since Harry's word with her.

They were fools if they thought they could manage without her. She was sure of it. It was just a matter of time before Harry and Ron relented being so stubborn and asked her for help instead of debating with her in the letters they sent.

She was surprised McGonnagall actually let Harry and Ron leave in the middle of their first term there, but she had a naggling feeling the rest of the Order Members persuaded her to. They were getting quite desperate and apprehensive of the coming battles they would face, and wanted to ensure they were doing everything possible to cover every corner and angle they could.

"So, any news? Are they okay? What're they doing? Do they need help from the DA yet?" Colin asked furiously, trying to peak over Hermione's shoulder as she opened the letter.

For a moment Hermione wished it was a letter from Draco, wished, hoped, prayed, begged that he knew how Harry and Ron were sending Hermione letters and managed to slip one in to her from wherever he was halfway around the world. Nonetheless, when she saw Harry's quick scrawl over the page, she knew she was just dreaming on a paper bag that resembled a bird.

She sighed, "No, Colin. They're fine. Just more theories, no results," she finished, scanning the letter for anything important. There was nothing there useful enough.

Hermione didn't wait for Colin's disappointed reply; she swiftly left the library as quick as she could. As well as feeling unbalanced, she also felt more than unsteady and off-colour. It was as though her life had been slid into a kaleidoscope. What was familiar was now unfamiliar and grotesque, a series of dying clowns and melting porcelain dolls.

She did not see Zabini until it was too late, leaving her on the floor and Zabini towering over her as Malfoy would do, but instead of a laugh, he gave her a hand to pull her up with.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." She said irritably, grabbing his hand as he hoisted her up.

"You missed the meeting we had with McGonagall this morning; I think I was more worried than she was. You're never late for anything, let alone missing it completely."

"I know, I know. I overslept, that's all. Had trouble sleeping last night." Hermione replied, bringing a hand to her forehead. She had a headache coming along. No matter how much she slept, Hermione felt increasingly more tired and it irritated her how she was allowing this to affect her punctuality. "Did she say anything?"

"No, just says she hopes the Christmas Ball preparations will be up in time for Tomorrow night."

"How are the prefects getting along with those?"

"They're doing fine. Some of the second and third years who are assisting are getting a bit cagey though, only a week and a day to go until Christmas."

Hermione nodded, and they continued to walk to the Great Hall.

"… What're you doing for Christmas?" Zabini asked, conversationally.

"Going to the Burrow, I expect." She answered, it was untrue. As soon as she got off the train, both she and Ginny were expected to reside with other Order members at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"What about your par-"

She walked away from him before he even finished his sentence, spotting Ginny playing around with her food on the table. Hermione sat opposite her and gave her a small smile whilst filling her plate with food. Ginny did not smile back. Ginny was in love with Harry and his absence made her despondent; since losing her father, she felt she had lost both Harry and Ron to death as well. It was forlorn to her, all of it.

Hermione looked at her plate and suddenly felt sick; it was the smell of it all. Everything she had once loved, she now detested eating. She pushed the plate away and rested her head on her hands. It seemed she and Ginny were going through the same kind of grief together, but things had become so strained, it was hard to communicate anymore.

"I'm off; I have Potions in a bit. Need to get my books." Ginny solemnly said.

Hermione merely nodded, escaping the Great Hall in the other direction.

It seemed wherever she tried to settle, after a while, she found herself running from it.

**000000000000**

Snape eyed Draco carefully as they practised spells off each other. Once again, Snape found himself playing full-time guardian. _Always the minder, never the groom_. He supposed it worked best that day; being in love and having it reciprocated deluded a person greatly, skewing their judgements and giving them a false impression all is well and it will be until it ends.

Everything ends.

"Love is so short. Forgetting is so long." He said aloud, absentmindedly.

Draco didn't hear the remark for the rain that had suddenly start to pour onto the Manor Roof and down the windows. The rain always reminded him of Hermione, since everything significant that happened between them had the rain accompanying it for the most part.

He hoped she would not do something stupid and compromise them. What she had presented him was not something that was convenient; it didn't fit his plans, it made no sense, and it put a funny taste in his mouth.

W.H.A.T.I.S.T.H.I.S.F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E He spelled out to form a question mark in his head.

He always pictured Romance as a box of chocolates and roses, but now he realised it was dirtier than that, darker, more hardcore than he possibly imagined it would be. And that was why he avoided it, because he didn't understand it, he was animal instinct, savage sins. He was not used to feeling.

On the one hand, he wanted to cut this cord now and leave it shredded for eternity after, to say to Hermione _Goodbye, please stay with your own kind and I'll stay with mine. There's something against us. It's not time. It's not time_, to save his own skin. But as the thunder rolled, he collapsed back into the memory of her skin.

_T__ake me where you go,_ he thought dejectedly_._


	13. And I will never sleep again

Long time coming. I know. I found a job, I lost a job, I lost (broke) a laptop, I found a laptop, lost health... yadda yadda.

This is the last final ever chapter of this story. And I personally know this story goes on, so I will do a sequel just to get it out of my system. Title will be disclosed soon, I will do an annoying extra chapter annoucing it. Anything for cheap publicity.

This chapter is obviously dramatic, but you know life has its strange twists, and trust me, this can happen. If some parts aren't written in detail, it's because they're not meant to be at this moment in time.

I'm going to rewrite A Fool's Game over the next couple of days, write the beginning of the sequel and I wrote this "thing" ages and ages ago which I'll see if i can transfer across into the world of Draco and Hermione. In short, I have tonnes of ideas for new fics, so if you're interested, watch this space. lots of space.

Asides from that, I've passed first year of uni, got accepted on the writing module they do here, so will be writing loads of both fanfic and original fics in preparation. All that needs accomplishing now is trying to live as harmoniously as I can with the housemate from hell (whom I dub miss piggy big tits for obvious reasons - I'm 12 you know, not 19), trying to remain un-mugged, un-victimised, un-stabbed/shot-raped in our new neighbourhood and dodging exes and flings & their current partners. Achievable aims? Who knows.

On with the show. Lines nicked are from The Smiths again. I promise to musically branch out in the sequel.

* * *

**By King's Cross Station I Sat Down and Wept**

**Thirteen: And I will never sleep again**

Hermione took deep breaths; she wasn't sure if she was just nervous or if it was the increasing number of people who decided to absent themselves out of her life. She set in the final bobby pin in her hair and stood back to look at herself in the mirror.

Acceptable.

Someone once asked her what she preferred to look at herself in, and she answered honestly that she hated looking at herself. Hermione for all her perfection was not perfected in the art of beauty, and thought herself as imperfect, disposable as someone's babydoll, and gradually hated the idea of being someone's completely. She was glad for that at least.

Her own reflection looked back at her, made up face, blushed with nausea and her eyes framed with darkness. Her hair was in coils to suit the occasion and so the rest of her followed, a deep emerald elegant dress completed the look. In the mirror she could see her bed and remembered him on it, though the scent of Draco was slowly fading each time she took to the bed; now the pillows which were full of his scent had nothing of him anymore.

Tears that were forming had spilt down her face silently. Draco told her that those were the worst tears; he said they were like waterfalls – they just slipped down and were unstoppable. Hermione could think of worse tears though whilst she carefully patted her cheeks dry as to ensure her made up face would not crumble in front of everyone.

She supposed it was selfish and childish to be so upset over his departure. Hermione knew it was over before it began, but still clung on, which was stupid to do so. Which in turn made the tears bitter and more unexplainable.

"I feel the same way about them leaving." Ginny's voice offered from behind her.

Hermione, though startled, just smiled in reply.

She had offered Ginny to come and prepare herself for the ball in her room, trying to make the gesture so things at Grimaud Place would feel less tense. Both had made small conversation and kept the art of keeping intimate feelings to themselves whilst they got ready.

"Do you have any pads or tampons I can borrow for tonight?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, they're in the cupboard over there to the far right. I normally keep them in the bathroom, but – "

"I know, Slytherins are not the easiest of people to live with."

"Yeah."

"Merlin, Hermione, you've a whole pack unopened here, we haven't restocked since we arrived at Hogwarts. How can you have so many left?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks completely. _Oh god._ Her eyes met her eyes in her reflection and echoed every horrific reaction she had to Ginny's question.

"Stress makes me late, it.. it, I mean, I-I've also been, y'know, testing out a few spells." She stumbled in reply.

"You alright?" Ginny asked.

"I'm fine. Look, I just need to run to the library, just remembered I've left Zabini's stupid… thing there. I'll be back before the ball starts, well, I have to be anyway as I've to give a speech at the beginning."

Before Ginny could say a word more, Hermione had dashed out of the room and made her way to the hospital wing. She knew Madam Pomfrey would not be there; McGonnagall had managed to convince the matron she needed a night off, and would be more useful in the Great Hall where the ball was being held if an emergency occurred after Pomfrey declined the first time.

"_Alohomora._" She whispered, opening the lock to Pomfrey's office. Only she, Blaise and the Hogwarts staff had the permission to open up the office, much to Pomfrey's dismay as she found herself to be more competent than the staff in dealing with injuries and because of that, felt only she should be allowed access into her own office. Thankfully the staff disagreed.

Hermione was normally the girl who avoided confrontations, but this was something she could not put off longer as she was feeling more than hypochondriac of late. Whilst flicking through Madam Pomfrey's book of Healing and Sickness spells and matters, she added up all the symptoms in her head, trying to find some way of dividing them instead of multiplying them to what would be a very bad scenario.

"Here you are." She muttered, stopping on a page. Her heart dropped into her stomach and more blood drained from her face as it listed down the same symptoms she had been experiencing. Hermione also tried to calculate the dates, but as she never knew her body that well, she did not know if what she calculated was right or not.

Now came the big striptease.

Hermione grabbed a small pitiful excuse of a cauldron and threw in some few ingredients that were required, her head slightly dizzy. For the most part of Potions, it was simply warped chemistry; something reacting with something obviously means a certain result. The difference between Magic and muggle medicinal tests were Magic was always one hundred percent accurate. Hermione pricked her finger and watched as two blood drops fell into the potion.

For two minutes nothing happened, and then the potion slowly turned ruby red in colour.

Hermione did nothing in retaliation; she just closed her eyes and laughed. She did not even know why she was laughing, why it provoked laughter, it was surreal.

Hermione was strangely calm though her hands were shaking greatly as she quickly scribbled down dates and did the math on a scrap piece of parchment.

_15__th__ of October – 20__th__ of October._

_1__st__/2__nd__ of November – Draco_

_Today's date: 13__th__ December_

_Weeks: 7_

"Oh, shit."

But strangely, the tears did not come, just perverse laughter and wide eyes.

**000000000000**

"Stupid thing? What stupid thing," Blaise muttered shaking his head as he stalked the hallways to reach the library. They only had half an hour before the ball began and he was unable to find Hermione anywhere. Both had agreed to do a final rehearsal of their speech before having to present it to the school. It had been Blaise's idea to do so, as he was never comfortable with making huge formal speeches and would feel more assured of himself if he rehearsed and was as prepared as he could be.

"Granger! Hermione! Where the hell have you been? I've been scouring the whole bloody castle looking for you." He shouted, running after her form on the seventh floor of the castle. He was not sure it was her at first, as she was pacing forwards and backwards, but the way the figure was biting at her fingernails, he recognised it to be her.

She turned around in surprise, but ignored him and opened a door that appeared from nowhere. Blaise hated Hogwarts for its little surprises. Before she could shut herself in, he managed to grab her arm and brought himself inside the room with her. The room was narrow with a huge window that was open, leaving the still air creeping and out, aside from the obvious hazardous window, the rest of the room was comfortable and a set of cue cards on the table which were obviously what Blaise required.

"You required a huge window? What for? There's not much of a view from this side of the castle, you know." He said, but she hung her head low.

"Look out of the window." She simply said

He did as she asked and saw they were at the edge of a huge cliff "… You want to throw yourself out of a window and off a cliff?"

"No, you were right the first time, I just liked a bit of scenery." Hermione sarcastically answered.

Blaise rolled his eyes, looking around the room. There were photographs of Harry, Ron, the Weasleys and other faces he could not recognise dotted around the small walls. What he found strange was there was also a small portrait of Draco there as well, but as he was not accustomed to the rules of the Room of Requirement, he naturally assumed the portrait of Draco was there because he entered the room as well as Hermione. That was not the only connection he could think of as to why the portrait would be there by the window, nevertheless, it was the more logical one.

"Stop this drama, Hermione. So Potter and Weasley have gone, they'll be back, look how many times they've escaped death. They're the world's luckiest fools." He said, pulling his speech out of his pocket.

Hermione laughed at his remark and continued to laugh until Blaise looked at her strangely whilst her face fell from laughter to tears in the space of a minute. And just like the laughter could not stop, the tears would not relent and she was soon sobbing onto Blaise's dress robes. Blaise could not understand why she was crying; he had heard once of Hermione crying and that was back in first year, when he did not even know what she looked like.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" He asked rubbing and patting her back which made her feel a little humiliated as he was rubbing it in such a way he acted like a parent trying to burp a baby. She did not know why and how the tears came, she thought none would come at all, but here they were. _Good evening, heartbreak_. Like clockwork the tears ebbed and seeped their way across her face.

"I always thought I'd be the type of girl who would cry to herself and laugh in front of strangers." She said, pulling away from Blaise. "I thought I was clever and had a good head on my shoulders as well."

"You are clever. You're the smartest girl in this school, the smartest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw and you know you are. We all know you are, you arrogant wench." Blaise tried to joke. He was not accustomed to girls crying in front of him. He only saw their jealousy, wrath and anger. Slytherin girls managed to mask their hurt and sadness well, releasing only their fury. They never seemed vulnerable, and neither did Hermione until that moment.

"I'm not." She sullenly said, taking a seat.

Blaise pulled out a packet of cigarettes, "Want one?" He enquired.

"No. God, that's why that smell won't go away, you're continuing Draco's work." She said, a little glad it was Blaise who was keeping the scent around their living area, as she was sure she was going crazy smelling it everywhere without Draco's presence alongside it.

"It's how you fight loneliness," He smiled, "you fill your heart with smoke."

"Shall we get on with this speech then?" Hermione asked; if they carried on talking as they were, she would betray herself and reveal more than she already had done.

**000000000000**

"…We can do it our way." Blaise ended.

The students present clapped, some witches with tears in their eyes, some muggleborns with a smirk after listening to Zabini butcher a Sinatra song. All in all, the speech was received well, and Hermione had managed to compose herself for the duration of hers. The show went on and life followed on, dragged on scratching its nails on the floor. Traditionally the Head Boy and Girl led the first dance, and as Blaise and Hermione took to the dance floor, he asked her "Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

"How can you let someone in and tell them your life and troubles when it's taken a lifetime to get here already?"

"A little trust, dearest."

But it was too late, she could not trust anyone.

**000000000000**

Hermione could not think of a way to excuse her evasive and cold behaviour to those she was open and warm with before. The world had slipped, turned upside down and she was left clinging onto the bottom of the world with a dying grip. Hermione was always grown up, but not this grown up, not ready to face the challenges a prospective parent faces. It made her think back on her own childhood. She was happy, born into a world where there was harmony. Not born in war.

Before she could make any decision, she had to take her soul out and lay it down on the table before her, inspect it, unravel the knots that had formed during the last four months. Hermione wanted that little Eden both her and Draco found sanctuary in at the start of the year, lost in the desolate land of nod, immersed in the sounds of life going on and on and on without any interference.

Since finding out, the visions and longing distorted themselves in Blake's strange sense of polarity, Hermione felt betrayed each time she remembered and longed for Draco. She had her taste of honey, her dream.

"_The dream has gone, but the baby is real._" She quietly said.

The first day she had arrived back to Grimmauld place, she managed to worm her way out of the house and apparated to her muggle doctor's surgery. It would give her the privacy she needed. Along with cold walls, empty politeness and removal of the bloody heart as a bloody fist, replaced with the rightful small neat diagram Hermione had known before.

_The doctor had looked at Hermione, "there are several options…"_

"_I know." Hermione said loudly than she would have done._

_  
"There's a self-referral system for girls who're seeking… terminations – it's very simple and easy, you just call up this number and they will sort out an appointment for you at a local hospital or clinic. It's all provided for the NHS unless you wish to go private, but that'll cost anything from four hundred pounds to six hundred."_

_Hermione simply nodded. A sinking feeling was washing itself over her._

"_This can all be sorted out within two weeks at the most through this system." _

_It made her sick. _

"_Hermione?"_

Later on that day she sat in the lounge of Grimmauld place close to tears again. She had cried hoarsely every single night not knowing why and how the pushing and pulling continued for so long. The first night she cried for herself, out of self-pity. Then the nights that followed, she cried for the strange invading being that had stupidly taken refuge in her body. Hermione cried so fiercely each night, she choked inconsolable vowels, spitting them out as a baby would do, crying for everything it needed.

She would not act on what was expected of her, she later deduced. She would make the right decision. At night Hermione found herself talking to the forming 'bean', knowing she shouldn't as it would just complicate things further, but it could not be helped. It was an instinct to do so, and if Draco had not shown her, she would have never slipped into another labyrinth of questions, decisions and weightings of options.

_One November spawned a monster in a shape of a child_.

Hermione sighed, tentatively touching the area where secret lay hidden that would later breach and reveal another concealed secret. If it was love between her and Draco, she would keep the child, but she wasn't even sure it was that, and did not want to keep a child as a token of what was Draco's attempt to prove her wrong. It would be useless to keep a reminder of a love that lived only in dreams. Though she already loved the bairn within her and wished she could just switch it off.

"Obviously a boy. Who else would give me so much hassle." She complained, attempting to make a joke of it. Though it was useless, only a comedian could make jokes in front of no physical audience. She stood up and took a look at the huge tapestry that covered the wall of the room. Lineage after lineage stretching generations and centuries. When she had first seen this tapestry, she tried to trace her family lineage, but only managed to the 1800s. She was born from a family of dentists and farmers. Nothing special.

She had always felt insignificant. She took a step back and rethought. No, insignificant was the wrong word. Inadequate, imperfect. _All began with I_.

Now she felt as though she had let everyone down. It was a dissolving feeling.

Her eyes roamed over the Black family, where Narcissa and Lucius were joined which then produced a line leading to 'Draco Malfoy'. Her eyebrows inclined when she took a closer look.

"Oh God, no."

A faint line was drawn from Draco's name to a new entry, "Hermione Granger" and from there on, there was a fainter line drawn downwards to another new entry, "Unknown".

"Fuck."

She ran to the bookshelf on the opposite wall and scoured the shelves for a book on Magical family trees; if the Weasleys had a clock that told them where each Weasley member was, there was obviously going to be magic that knew even the close guarded of secrets. _So invasive_, Hermione thought whilst she dropped the book onto the floor out of sheer panic.

As she flicked through the pages hurriedly, the book took itself from her hands and efficiently snapped open at the page Hermione sought. She took the book back from the air it defied and skim read the pages relevant to Pureblood family lines. It was not good. Nothing good would come from it either.

All magical family trees are connected to each other, if a marriage is announced, a baby to be born, it will be present on all family trees. If she was on the Black family tree, she would be etched silently into the Malfoy's. For a moment, Hermione half wished Draco would see the changes to his family tree and come back to her, but it was a fool's desire. Maybe he was already dead, dying, trapped, lost in centuries of translation.

Or maybe he wouldn't care and shrug his shoulders, as she knew him to do. That would be the most brutal stab of all. Their relationship was already so inexplicable; a dictionary definition that lead to another word having to be defined that lead to four more other simple words that were harder to be defined, in a never ending loop where answers were chased but never caught.

If Draco didn't see the changes or care for them, someone else would, and Hermione still had more head than heart to go on and hope for the best, and let love and attachment solve everything when all it had done so far was confuse and paint her black.

The thought still made her morally sick.

**000000000000**

"Here is where I started something I couldn't finish." She announced to her invisible audience, fingering a blade of wheat grass. It helped pouring out soliloquy after soliloquy; removing herself from her voice so she could interpret and analyse herself from an outsider's perception. Thought it was December, the sun lit everything and the woods still had a golden ambience to it, but the warmth she remembered was long gone. The cold had swept over, turning each golden refraction of the sunlight into one of Midas' statues.

"Granger?"

In the winter sunlight, she could not at first see who the stranger was, but as the silhouette approached and was painted human again, she was disappointed to see it was Zabini and not Malfoy. She held out her wand as a warning.

Zabini held up his arms to protect himself, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"What do you want?" She squinted as the wind tugged at the loose strands of her hair.

"Nothing. I'm just going for a walk, that's all."

"Why this area?"

"I wasn't aware it was yours. Malfoy and I used to tour this part of the woods when we were younger. It's not too far from the Manor with the help of a house elf. I've always liked it, so I return here sometimes just to humour myself."

"I suppose it does have a magnetic quality to it."

"I'm glad you agree. Malfoy has always poked fun at me for returning as often as I do. Calls me a sap." Blaise tried conversationally.

Hermione scoffed a little remembering how different Blaise's little anecdote was to the Malfoy she had seen four or five months previous. He was so Romantic, so Keats and Wordsworth, sat still in the hum of nature. She still found it bizarre four or five months later on.

"Sorted out your boy troubles yet?" Zabini asked as he sat opposite her, conjuring creature comforts as he did so.

"Boy troubles?"

"A clever girl is only stupid when a boy is involved."

And though Hermione wanted to close shut and leave herself in Pandora's Box, she found herself filling the box, seeping it out as though she was Alice in Wonderland.

"It doesn't really feel like it's over. I know it's over, but still I cling on. It never really started, but it felt so real." She said, hating herself for each word that formed from the vibration of her vocal cords.

"He said he'd cure you of your ills, but he didn't and he never will." Blaise said, conjuring a little fire, so cleverly, no smoke emitted from it. Hermione looked on, entranced by the flames and how the gas distorted the background behind it. Now she knew how Joan of Arc felt.

"How much do you know about it?" She asked.

"You know, the only reason I was put in Slytherin was because I asked to be. All the friends I had made on the train were put into Slytherin; you saw how the hat screamed 'Slytherin' after barely touching both Parkinson and Draco's head. I was the last child to be sorted. There were expectations of me. The hat mulled me over and said to me I was Ravenclaw material; clever, but I pleaded with it, shouted back I was cunning not clever, and so it put me in Slytherin." Blaise said, smirking a little, but Hermione knew the Hat would put you in any House if you asked it already; nevertheless, he had a point,

"I know enough. You two were brilliant keeping up the charade, but no one can expect to be so strong for so long… Draco's portrait in the Room of Requirement first twinged my curiosity. From there, the road was easy. Everything fell into place. The civility you two had mastered so quickly over the last couple of months, the smell of girl on him that morning I burst into his room unannounced… the quick confusing muddle of thoughts you had of him whilst I danced with you the night of the Ball."

"I hate your mind tricks. It's like flying a broomstick; I'm just not good at it. The thought terrifies me."

"You could be a poet or you could be a fool, Granger." Blaise said, never slipping up or revealing his true loyalties.

"Is he… How is he doing?" She asked.

"Well enough. I don't see him as often as he's too wrapped up in the family business."

"Has he ever…"

"No."

"I suppose he wouldn't." She near whispered.

"He doesn't trust or love anyone, Granger."

"Do you know, I've even given it a name." Hermione said, snorting, the threat of tears coming back; her eyes and cheek already stinging in preparation. "Cariad. It's welsh, it fit, and once something fits, it's hard to replace with something els –"

"Love doesn't exist." He said, cutting her off. "Self interest exists. Attachment based on personal gain exists. Complacency exists. But not love."

"Love needs to be reinvented."

"Love will not come from an invention, Hermione. You have a choice between the lesser and greater evil." Blaise sat silent for some time. "You will do a good thing getting rid." He said carefully. "You've only one life, so save yourself."

"I don't care about myself all that much at the moment." And it was true. She felt more and more detached as the days went on.

"You care about him, though. You want to hate him, but you still care. You have no idea the punishment he will get if someone decides to brush the dust off the Malfoy family tree. Would you want his blood on your hands."

"Would I want both our blood on my hands as an alternative?" Hermione equally levelled.

"The lesser of two evils, Hermione." Blaise said as he extinguished the fire between them.

**000000000000**

Hermione felt alien to herself as she sat in the waiting room; she was cutting it fine as well, two days before term started once again at Hogwarts. She felt claustrophobic with all the women surrounding her; middle aged women, beautiful young women, misfit girls as well. It was a strange freak show confined in a tiny waiting room in the attic of a clinic. One by one, each woman was called for a series of blood tests, a scan, which she found brutal and was glad they turned the screen away from her as they determined the age of the fetus.

Still she asked if she could keep a copy of it, and the ultrasound technician looked at her as though she was mad, and maybe she was.

The waiting was hours long of blurred memories and Saturday daytime cooking television shows which made her hungry and sick as she was told not to eat twelve hours before the operation. It was strange to think one day she was pregnant and the next day she would not be, though it was so simple in the grand scheme of things. They snapped a hospital band around her wrist and stripped her down to a matching hospital gown, sticking on plastic things on her chest that would monitor her heart.

She felt as though she was in Auschwitz. Her chest fluttered and heaved more as the reality set in.

Then down to the basement she was taken, where a ward was set up next to Theatre. She was one of the last girls to be taken in, watching as a woman was dragged to a bed. She looked like she had cancer, it was all wrong, and if there was ever a moment she wanted to run away as fast as she could, it was then. The woman sleepily smiled at Hermione, and told her, "It's not that bad, I promise."

_Run._

But she could not. And the tears silently swamped her cheeks.

"_I want to be put to sleep. I want to be under general anaesthetic, not local."_ She had said to the doctor in the appointment beforehand. The doctor asked Hermione how she felt, "_I'm not happy and I'm not sad_" she answered and now so near to the end, Hermione was glad she had insisted on being put to sleep. Anaesthetic was like sleep draught; you would never find yourself half-awake in a nightmare.

The nurse slid her on a bed and told her she could hold her hand if she wanted to as she injected the anaesthetic in. Hermione grabbed hold and did not let go until she fell asleep. She did not think she would fall asleep, caffeine never worked on her, so why would this? Nevertheless, she did not know she had been proven wrong until she had later woken up, and the last image she remembered with the great set of lights above her blinding her, and the doctor at the side snapping on his gloves as everything dimmed and lost itself to darkness.

And then the blood came.

**000000000000**

It was well late in the morning, and both Hermione and Ginny stood a short walk away from King's Cross Station with their trunks lagging beside them.

George had come to see them off this time, managing to sway Molly to stay at home, fearful of how his mother would react being at the station without his father. Ginny had in turn negotiated a deal with him, convincing him to stay at least ten metres away from King's Cross Station. His celebrity status with the current pupils of Hogwarts would make it impossible to board the train in time, and she found the attention her brothers received in comparison to her incredibly irritating. Ginny waved goodbye to him as he apparated back to his shop, and Hermione found it harder and harder with each step towards the platform.

She stopped outside the entrance.

"I just need a minute." She needed lifetimes.

"Alright, but hurry up, the train'll be leaving soon!" Ginny said as she ran off to the platform, her brilliant red hair shining in the January sun.

However, Hermione did what she could only manage to do.

She sat down and wept.


	14. AN: After haitus comes the sequel!

**Author's Note:**

Oh, it's been quite a long time since you heard from me! I know I said I'd quickly post a sequel to this story, but life quietly got in the way. Only recently have I managed to pull myself back together and write again.

Again, thank you for all the reviews, favourites and alerts for this story and for all those who are still lurking about and have the patience - I have revised the first chapter of the sequel and it will be available on fanfiction after I post this note.

Because I have aged 2 years and a lot has happened in those 2 years, the sequel will obviously reflect that. But it's time for Draco and Hermoine to face each other again, no? So if you are interested, please read the sequel "One of Two Planets Dancing".

Thank you again,

PT.


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